


Metamorphosis

by AnOutlandishFanfic



Series: Metamorphosis [1]
Category: Outlander (TV), Outlander Series - Diana Gabaldon
Genre: Changelings, Child Abandonment, Infant Death, Miscarriage, Nightmares, Pregnancy
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2018-01-15
Updated: 2018-12-07
Packaged: 2019-03-05 06:52:06
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 13
Words: 30,655
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/13382481
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/AnOutlandishFanfic/pseuds/AnOutlandishFanfic
Summary: What if Claire had conceived on her wedding night with Jamie? How would that change the plot points we all know and love?





	1. Nigh the Ness

June 11th, 1743.

Ye are blood of my blood, bone of my bone.  
I give ye my body, that we two might be one.

Jamie lay next to me on the bed, sound asleep. His arm was draped protectively over me and I had no wish to move it. I’d shifted and adjusted my position on the pillows enough to know he wouldn’t wake if I did, but the reassuring weight of it anchored me in the tumultuous sea of my emotions.

I rolled onto my side and curved myself into him, as much for warmth as for his calming presence. He pulled me closer out of pure instinct and sighed deeply. I lay there as I tried desperately to match my breathing to his, to fall asleep wrapped in his embrace before my brain could digest what I had just done.

Too late, my heart whispered.

...

June 18th, 1743.

A gentle breeze lapped the waters of Loch Ness against the shore. It had been a warm day, by Scottish standards, and hours of hard travel left me flushed, tired, and cross. I had seized the opportunity to wander a little ways from camp as soon I possibly could.

I sighed with unabashed relief as I perched on a wide, flat boulder that jutted out into the water and dipped my toes in. Traveling overland by horse with a dozen men was a cacophonous, pungent endeavor and moments of solitude like these were hard to come by.

If I saw another human being in the next ten minutes, I just might scream.

My eyes burned with fatigue as I slid them shut and tipped my head backwards, letting the breeze cool my face. The setting sun taunted me; boasting that night was close at hand, when I knew it would be hours before I could sleep.

I hadn’t slept well the night before and whether my insomnia was due to sleeping on the hard ground or my new bedmate, I wasn’t sure. A smile tugged at the corners of my mouth as I thought of lying in bed with Jamie. The fact that we hadn’t really even had a bed the last two nights only fueled the unquenchable flames of desire within him.

I would be lying if I said I wasn’t attracted to him in turn. I was, and for more than just his looks.

He was one of those people whose soul was just as beautiful, if not more so, than their outward appearance. There was something about him that quietly undid all the protective barriers I had built around myself since arriving here. They came down without hesitation whenever I was with him.

A small splashing noise brought me out of my thoughts and I opened my eyes, looking for the telltale ripples of a jumping fish.

What I saw instead were two giant, amber eyes staring up at me. They bulged out from a long, flat head, which now began to emerge from the water.

A waterhorse. A kelpie. The Loch Ness Monster. A plesiosaur.

Whatever the hell you wanted to call it, it was within touching distance of my feet.

I could have pulled away, but I didn’t. I sat there frozen as a statue and watched it inch closer to me. The initial shock wearing off, I found I wasn’t afraid of it, but felt a strange sort of camaraderie instead. We were both creatures adrift in a time completely different than our own.

It seemed to hover, almost as if it was waiting for a cue from me. I moved my foot slowly towards it and held it still. The beast moved in kind, brushing against the tips of my toes. It was surprisingly warm, more like a crocodile than a snake in texture.

“Goodbye,” I whispered as a short puff of steam rose from its nostrils and it sank back beneath the water, disappearing from view.

Pulling my feet out of the water and drying them on my hem, I caught sight of movement further up the shore. It was one of Dougal’s men. Peter, I thought his name was. He stood trembling with his eyes fixated on the spot where the creature had just been.

“Are you alright?” I asked, noticing he had dropped the bucket he had brought to fetch water with. I stood and started walking towards him until I realized he was backing away from me, arms held up in defense. “What are you doing?”

He flung himself face first onto the ground at my feet, begging at the top of his lungs, “Have mercy, Lady!”

I quickly scanned the tree line, hoping no one had heard this embarrassing outburst. “Stop it,” I hissed and nudged his shoulder with my foot.

The man jerked as if I had kicked him, reeling backwards and hastily crossing himself before fleeing back into the trees.

I stared after him, dumbfounded.

What in hell was that all about?

…

“Jamie?” I asked as I crawled under the plaid beside him.

His breath tickled my neck as he buried his nose in my hair, “Aye?”

“Do you believe there’s really a giant beast living in Loch Ness?”

I felt him chuckle as he replied, “I’ll no’ be sayin’ tha’ I dinna a stone’s throw away from the loch itself, aye? I may no’ be as steeped in the auld ways as some, Sassenach, but I’m no’ daft.”

I knew this to be true. Even though Jamie, his uncle Dougal, the lawyer Ned Gowan, and his godfather Murtagh were all well learned, they had a certain measure of reverence for the supernatural folklore of the Highlands. They’d show you that they found such things ridiculous, with scoffs and raised brows, but wouldn’t speak a word against the old-fashioned traditions and stories.

“Why? Ye didna see one, did ye?” Jamie asked in jest, the cheeky grin evident in his voice.

I couldn’t have asked for a better lead in if I’d tried.

“Actually, I did.”

Jamie was silent a moment before he rolled me over to face him. “Ye saw the beast?”

“Umhmm,” I nodded, trying not to laugh at his incredulous expression. “I even touched it.”

“Ye what?”

“I touched it with my foot,” I brushed the toes of my right foot along Jamie’s leg, making him jump.

“Ye didna,” he shook his head in disbelief.

I did laugh then. “Jamie, why would I tell you I saw a supposedly mythological beast if I hadn’t?”

“Oh, aye, I didna mean to say ye were lyin’, Sassenach,” he was quick to add as he mulled the idea over, “‘Tis just tha’ I dinna ken anyone who has seen the beast himself.”

“Well, now you know someone who’s seen it for herself,” I quipped and poked him in the ribs.

“They say ‘tis good luck to see it.” He grinned as he caught hold of my hand, his gaze growing distant, “Wha’ was tha’ auld rhyme Jenny used to sing? ‘I gave my laddie a kiss nigh the Ness an’ now a gift from the beast we’ve been blessed’?”

“You know, that doesn’t really rhyme,” I commented, not able to stop myself from laughing.

“Oh, aye, I ken it doesna rhyme, Sassenach…” He pulled me closer, his lips hovering just above mine. “But ye canna be lettin’ the verse go unheeded, can ye?”

“Mmhmm,” I murmured, tasting the hint of whisky on his lips as I kissed him, “It would be shame to see the beast and not ‘give my laddie a kiss nigh the Ness.’ I’d better make it two, just to be sure.”


	2. Leap of Faith

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Claire and Jamie escape Fort William and return to Leoch... where Claire realizes she's pregnant.

June 25th, 1743; Fort William, Scotland.

“I’ll thank ye to take yer hands off my wife,” Jamie’s voice was low and even as he crouched in the window, pointing his pistol at Randall’s head.

The words sent shivers down my spine, congregating to form a warm flame of hope in the pit of my stomach.

He came, my heart thundered.

Of course he came, you bloody fool, my head tried to reason, you’re his wife.

I’m his wife… Jamie had married me to keep me out of the villainous hands of Black Jack Randall, and yet, at my first opportunity, I managed to run headlong into them. He had every right to wash his hands of me and leave me to my own devices.

But he hadn’t.

Instead, he took his life in his hands and broke into a heavily fortified British stronghold to save me. I shuddered to think what they would do to him if his plan failed, let alone what they’d do to me.

“What did you say?” he asked incredulously, sliding his hand across the table for the dagger that lay beside my head. His eyes were fixed on the weapon as he curled his fingers around it. Now with it in hand, he turned and caught sight of Jamie. “Lord help us, it’s the young Scottish wildcat himself!”

Not only had Jamie risked life and limb to rescue me, but he now stood before the very man who had flogged him within inches of death. The man who had single-handedly taken away everything Jamie held dear. His father, his freedom, his home.

All to save me.

“She’s your wife you say?” He looked me up and down like a slab of meat at market. “Quite the tasty wench she is, unlike your sister.”

Jamie shifted his weight uneasily on the windowsill. He was still poised to strike, as deadly as a venomous snake. I felt cold steel against my throat, the blade lightly touching the skin above my clavicle. “Maybe you’d better toss that pistol over here… unless you’re tired of married life,” the monster shrugged indifferently.

Jamie seemed to consider this a moment, then let out a despairing sigh and slid the pistol into the room. It skittered across the floor, bumping into Randall’s boots with a dull thud.

What the hell was he doing?

Randall smiled. A slow, sinister movement that made me writhe in loathing as he bent to pick up the gun. “Well, that’s a bit better.”

Trading the blade for the barrel of a pistol, he placed it against my temple as his free hand dropped to his crotch.

“I was engaged when you arrived, my dear fellow,” He commented blithely as he hurriedly unlaced himself. “You’ll forgive me if I get on with what I was doing before I attend to you.”

I felt my skirts lift as a fierce battle cry sounded from my husband.

Randall turned on him, aimed, and fired in one fluid movement as a scream caught in my throat. Where there should have been a deafening combustion, an empty click sounded in it’s place. Jamie seized this opportunity to knock Randall completely unconscious and pulled me into his arms.

He held me close for a moment before hastily freeing my bound hands.

“You bluffed your way in here with nothing but an empty pistol?” I exclaimed as he pulled me to the open window.

Stepping onto the wide ledge, he remarked, “If it were loaded, I’d ha’ just shot him in the first place, aye?”

He reached down to help me up beside him, whistling out the window as he did so. I peered down at the ground, some eight feet below us, and wondered what on earth his plan was.

“We jump together, aye?” Jamie’s eyes were urgent, yet calm.

Jesus H Roosevelt Christ, you have got to be kidding me.

“Ready? One… tw-”

Squeezing his hand in panic, I screeched, “Wait! Do we jump on three or is it one - two - three - jump?”

It wasn’t my intention to stall, I could hear footsteps in the passageway outside the door, but I didn’t want to be pulled out of the window if I jumped late or have my arm yanked from its socket if I jumped early.

“Jump now!” Jamie commanded as the door flung open behind us.

...

July 2nd, 1743; MacKenzie Lands, Scotland.

The sun was low in the sky when I began to recognize the terrain around me. We’d make it to Leoch by nightfall as planned, but we had a considerable distance to go before then.

I swallowed hard against the rising feeling of nausea.

My feelings were decidedly mixed on the subject of returning to Leoch. On the one hand, I rejoiced at the prospect of a clean bed and a chance to get rid of the layers of grime I had accumulated, but, on the other hand, I had left Leoch with an opportunity to return home and was now returning with a husband and dashed hopes.

Not to mention having to field the myriad of well wishes and unspoken questions from the castle residents.

My stomach continued to roll as I tried to quiet my tumultuous thoughts and concentrate on the road in front of me.

Jamie’s back was broad and straight, just ahead. The hair at the nape of his neck was damp with sweat and curled into tight ringlets from the moisture. He shifted in the saddle and this unexpected movement made the world around me spin.

I didn’t have time to dismount, but had the presence of mind to lean to the left as I lost the contents of my stomach.

Still bent over, I heard Angus, who had been riding directly behind me, bring his horse next to mine and felt him grab hold of the reigns. Jamie appeared out of nowhere and placed a cool hand on my cheek. He murmured something in Gaelic as he lifted me into his arms and carried me to a sheltered spot beside the road. Setting me down gently in the grass, he continued to speak in this low, comforting tone as I heaved again and again.

My whole body trembled and the back of my throat burned with stomach acid when I was finally done. I slid my eyes shut, trying to breathe deeply, as I sat back against Jamie.

I felt him lay a handkerchief across my open palm as he asked, “Are ye alright, Sassenach?”

Cracking one eye partially open, I glared up at him.

No, I bloody wasn’t alright.

I opened both eyes and was about to let him know exactly what I was feeling, when I realized he was as white as a ghost and shaking just as much as I was. My heart skipped a beat at the deep concern I found in his blue eyes.

“I think so,” I murmured instead.

Relief washed over his face as he squeezed my hand.

…

My stomach churned yet again as we passed thru the stone archway and came to a stop inside the courtyard at Leoch. Jamie slid from the saddle behind me and guided me down after him. Knees buckling as soon as my feet hit the cobblestones, I desperately grabbed onto his arm.

He scooped me up unceremoniously and headed towards the stone stairs that led to the sleeping chambers.

Mrs Fitz intercepted us before we made it to the first step, asking in alarm, “Why, whatever’s the matter wi’ the poor child? Has she had an accident o’ some sort?”

“Nae, she’s only married me,” he assured her with a grin, “though if ye care to call it an accident, ye may.”

With that, he pushed his way thru the throng of people who seemed to have materialized out of nowhere at our arrival. He answered their questions as best he could with a word or two, but didn’t stop to explain. The faces that swarmed in front of me seemed to receive the news favorably with warm smiles and well wishes.

We came to a sudden halt and I very nearly lost my cookies as I realized I was face to face with none other than Colum MacKenzie.

“Wha–” he began, but was cut off by Mrs Fitz’s giddy voice.

“They’re married! Ye can give them yer blessin’, sir, while I ready their room.”

With that announcement made, she pushed her way thru the crowd, leaving a considerable gap in her wake and giving me a perfect view of Laoghaire’s ashen face.

…

I flopped face down onto the bed after removing a layer or two of grime.

Every inch of my body ached, every muscle complaining in unison over their misuse. My legs, my arms, my back, my abs, my breasts… although why those decided to chime in, I had no idea.

I vaguely remembered that my monthly should be starting any day now and shrugged the thought off, not wanting to mentally speculate as to how Jamie would react to my courses.

My pride smarted painfully as I thought of my husband and I rolled over, glaring at the bed curtains above me. Jamie hadn’t wasted any time in our room, but left as soon as he was sure I wasn’t going to vomit again. The image of Laoghaire’s stricken face came to view and I knew he had gone to comfort her.

Was this the life that lay before me, spending my days receiving the pity of the castle as the Sassenach wench who couldn’t satisfy her husband?

…

“Leave then, if that’s wha’ ye think of me.” Jamie face was livid as he threw his hand towards the door, “Leave! I’ll no’ hinder ye.”

My pulse slowed as I realized that he meant it.

If I chose to leave, he would let me go.

I weighed this option carefully for a moment before responding.

“No. I don’t run away from things.”

“I dinna either, Sassenach.” Jamie ran a hand thru his hair as he absorbed my decision.

This was true. He didn’t run. Away, that is. When confronted with his primal fight or flight mechanism, Jamie choose to fight again and again, which usually sent him running headlong into things.

“Wha’ is it then? Why are ye doin’ this?” He asked, his brow furrowed in confusion, “‘Tis no’ a question of proof, but whether ye believe me or no’. Do ye? Do ye believe me when I tell ye there is nothing between tha’ girl and me?”

He had told me so when we married, I had believed him then.

Did I believe him now?

Taking a deep breath, I answered, “Yes, I believe you, but it isn’t that. I mean, not all of it.”

Jamie stared at me blankly, blinking in complete confusion.

Could he really be so daft?

“When we got back you couldn’t wait to tell Colum you’d married, just so you could collect your share of the rents!” I spelled it out for him.

He gaped at me in astonishment, then tipped his head back and laughed. “Money?! Tha’s what this is about?”

“I do have a small bit of pride left, you know,” I muttered crossly.

Jamie grinned at me from the other side of the room, “Sassenach, my share of the rents couldna even buy a half of a cow, should I want one.”

“Oh.” I commented rather lamely, feeling very much like a fool. “What did you want, then?”

His eyes softened as he reached into his sporran and walked slowly towards me. He uncurled his fingers to reveal a silver ring, intricately engraved.

“A wedding ring,” Jamie’s voice was hushed, a stark contrast to the shouting match we had just finished.

He left to buy you a wedding ring and you accuse him of infidelity.

“Will ye wear it, Claire?” Jamie asked, “Or do ye wish to live apart?”

...

July 6th, 1743; Claire’s Surgery at Castle Leoch.

My dungeon of a surgery had found another use while I was away, but Mrs Fitz seemed eager for me to return to my duties and cheerfully gave me back my space. She and her small regiment of young women had just finished toting the last of the impedimenta away, leaving me in blissful solitude. The bustle of the kitchens could be heard thru the open doorway and I moved to shut it.

This done, I plodded back to my work table and sat down heavily on the stool.

Why was I so tired?

Traveling about the Scottish Highlands had certainly been taxing to an extent, but we’d returned to Leoch four days ago and I’d had ample time to catch up on sleep. Even if I hadn’t, I was used to operating on minimal sleep for days at a time. I thought I might even thrive on it. A few hours here and there were more than enough to carry me thru the day.

Propping my head in my hands, I slid my eyes shut and tried to pinpoint the cause.

Maybe I had misdiagnosed my nervous stomach.

I hadn’t been ill enough for it to have been full-on food poisoning and no one else fell ill. Even if something I ate had caused the stomach upset four days ago, it would be long out of my system by now.

I mentally shook my head; it wasn’t that.

I certainly could have contracted a virus from the many people I came into contact with in the last week. The flu would explain the vomiting, as well as my residual lack of energy, but the more I thought about it, the more I realized that the overwhelming feeling of fatigue had started before I had gotten sick.

Fatigue. Nausea. Tender breasts.

No. I can’t be.

Bolting out of my seat, I frantically dug thru the drawer where I kept my daily log. I hadn’t written in it very faithfully, especially while I was on the road, but it was the closest thing I had to a calendar.

My heart raced as I flipped back thru the pages.

I had my courses while traveling, hadn’t I?

I found the ones pertaining to rent collecting and my subsequent marriage, but they had no mention of my monthly visitor.

Hadn’t I?

May 29th, 1743 - Monthly begins.

June 2nd, 1743 - Left Castle Leoch at daybreak. 

I frantically flipped to an empty page and hastily sketched out the days, not wanting to entrust this to mental calculation.

Four weeks would be…

Last week.

It should have started the twenty-sixth of June and it was now the sixth of July, making me ten days late.

I’m never late.

The world seemed to spin around me as I slid against the wall to the floor, curling myself into a tight ball. My heart screamed that I couldn’t be pregnant, that I was simply late and stressed, but the incessant stream of logic in my mind told me that pregnancy was the most probable cause.

I’m pregnant. I’m going to have a baby.

It was at this very moment that the door swung open and Mrs Fitz’s cheery voice greeted me from the entryway, shattering the fragile moment into a hundred different pieces of fear and uncertainty.

“I found ye a wee bit o’–” she stopped suddenly as she came around the corner, “Ach, Claire! Whatever’s the matter, lass?”

Should I tell her? It was really Jamie’s news to hear first.

The very thought of telling Jamie I was pregnant with his child sent me scrambling across the floor in search of something to vomit in. I reached the bucket in time to turn away from Mrs Fitz as I retched. Tears fell from my cheeks, mingling with my stomach contents at the bottom of the bucket.

I heard Mrs Fitz softly pad across the room behind me before she lowered herself to the floor and began to rub soothing circles between my shoulder blades, “Ye dinna have to say a word, lass, I ken just wha’ yer feelin’.”

Oh, she does, does she? She KENS what it feels like to be pregnant by a man who you do not love? To be separated from the one you do?

I must have muttered aloud, for she cheerfully replied, “Oh, aye. I was sick as a dog wi’ all o’ my bairns. Dinna fash, it doesna last forever.”

Wiping my mouth on the hem of my apron, I pushed the bucket aside. Mrs Fitz smiled at me as she reassuringly patted my arm. I made no attempt to smile in return, but instead petitioned, “You won’t speak a word of this, will you?”

“‘Tis yer news to tell, lass.” She waved away my concern, then added, “Jamie must be proud as a peacock, aye?”

Unable to meet her gaze, I answered, “He doesn’t know. Not yet, I mean.”

She took my face in her worn, wrinkled hands and waited to speak until I looked up at her. Her voice was gentle, without a hint of reprimand. “‘Tis a noble an’ holy thing to bear yer husband’s child, lass, no’ a thing to be ashamed of. Ye’ve given Jamie a great blessing.”

“But I don’t love him,” my throat tightened around the words, unable to fully explain myself. “I can’t, I mean, I still…”

Jamie knew it, but I wasn’t sure that I had ever actually said it out loud.

I still loved Frank.

I gave my body freely to Jamie, my time, my energy, but I could not give him my heart, for it belonged to another.

Her smile wobbled as her eyes grew misty, “I was married twice, myself, lass, an’ I didna love my second husband when we wed. ‘Twas a match arranged by the Laird an’ no’ wha’ I wished, but I did grow to love him in my own way. He was a good man, as is yer Jamie.”

Jamie was a good man. He had promised me the protection of his body and name, a vow he had kept when I put to the test. I knew that, heedless of the cost, he would do whatever it took to ensure that I was safe and cared for.

It wasn’t Jamie’s integrity that I was concerned about, it was what would happen next.

“I ken ye fear wha’ the morrow may bring, but let it be as it may. Dinna waste these precious days of carrying yer bairn by worryin’ over what ye canna change,” Mrs Fitz seemed to read my mind.

Her words rang in my ears like a resounding bell, a single phrase reverberating higher than the rest.

Carrying my child.

It took two to create a child, yes, yet this baby would be mine. He or she would bear their father’s name and maybe his looks, but I would be the one to shelter them within me, to carry them beneath my heart, to give them life even if it cost me my own.

It was in this moment, this hush between the wise and the yearning, that I knew without a doubt that I would love them. Daughter or son, it didn’t matter. A baby of my very own to care for, a child to raise, a legacy to leave behind.

…

After assuring Mrs Fitz that I would be fine and triple checking that the door was bolted behind her, I lay in the bed that was tucked into the corner of my surgery, wrestling with my thoughts. My knees were pulled tight to my chest, my cheeks wet with tears.

Why now? The question circled around and around above my head. I had tried to get pregnant for seven long years, why now?

A conversation I had with Frank right before I left flickered thru my mind. We had been speaking of adoption, of caring for a child who had been orphaned in the war since it seemed we could not have one of our own.

His words haunted me, a cold, icy fist squeezing around my heart.

“I couldn’t feel properly towards a child that was not of my blood.”

What would Frank’s reaction to my return be if I was pregnant with another man’s child? Would he divorce me? Leave me and the child alone in the world? Would I be better off here, in the past with the father of my child, than in the future, shunned by the man that I loved? Or would he support us, all the while holding the shame of my infidelity over my head like a guillotine blade?

There were too many questions, too many scenarios of a future I could not predict.

“Jamie must be proud as a peacock.”

He would be. I knew he would be.

I didn’t doubt that his reaction to my news would be anything but joyful, but that wasn’t the problem.

The problem was that I wasn’t.

I didn’t know exactly what I was, just at the moment, but joyful wasn’t it.

…

A loud pounding woke me some time later. The shadows stretched long and slender across the floor as I sat up and moved slowly towards the door.

“Sassenach?” A voice called between emphatic knocks.

Jamie.

I stopped dead in my tracks, unsure of what to do.

“Claire?” He was quickly becoming concerned, “Are ye alright?”

“Coming!” I called, but made no move to do so.

Do I tell him now? Today? Or should I wait until I’m absolutely sure?

You are sure, a little voice ridiculed me, you just don’t want to admit it.

“If ye dinna come to the door, Sassenach, I’ll–”

Visions of him knocking the door off it’s hinges propelled me forward, quickly letting him in before he gave the castle folk enough gossip-fodder to last until next year.

“Or you’ll what?” I quipped as I stared at his shirt front, trying desperately to act normal.

Jamie shrugged, mumbling something about regretting putting the bolt there in the first place. He shoved his left hand towards me, palm up, as he gestured vaguely to it with his right.

“I, ah, am in need of yer skills,” he supplied.

After leading him to the windows that lined the southern wall and turning his hand this way and that for several minutes, I looked up at him in confusion. “What am I looking for?”

“A sliver, just there.” A blush began at the base of his neck and slowly crept its way up to his ears, turning them a dull pink.

I had to bring his hand right up to my nose to find the speck he was talking about.

“This tiny thing?” I asked incredulously. How a fleck of wood that small made its way thru his thick calluses was beyond me and told him so. “How did you even notice it was there?”

He shifted from foot to foot, smiling slightly as he looked at the floor. “Oh aye, well…”

“You know, you don’t have to come up with an excuse to visit your wife.” I dropped his hand and crossed my arms as I felt a smile tug at the corner of my mouth, my voice dropping as I teased him. “You can just stop by to say you missed me.”

His head snapped up, a huge grin spreading across his face.

A good man, indeed.  
…

July 9th, 1743; Castle Leoch.

Morning sickness is a lie, I fumed as I heaved into my bucket for the third time today. If only it would bloody stay in the morning.

It was almost time for the evening meal and I had no appetite what so ever. In fact, the very thought of enduring another aromatic meal filled with haggis and neeps in the great hall made me gag.

The nagging voice came again, You have to tell him.

I shoved the thought aside as I rinsed out the bucket and placed it underneath my work table, hidden from view.

Out of sight, out of mind...


	3. All Through the Night

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Claire and Jamie settle into married life at Leoch as Claire's morning sickness persists.

July 16th, 1743; Jamie and Claire’s Room at Leoch

My stomach woke me sometime after midnight, making its intentions quite clear. I rolled onto my side and curled my legs up to my chest.

You were doing so well, Beauchamp.

I hadn’t been sick at all the day before, and only once the day before that. Somehow, the timing had always been such that I was able to slip away to be sick or I was alone when the nausea hit me.

Until now.

While Jamie wasn’t what I’d call a light sleeper, he would sleep thru my frequent trips to the chamber pot if I was careful, but the moment I said something, he was alert and ready to pounce. I knew I wasn’t going to be able to vomit in the complete silence without waking him.

What would I say? How should I tell him?

We were alone and would be for some time. It would be hours yet til dawn, giving him time to process the news before he had to leave for the stables.

“I’m pregnant” was simple enough.

“I’ve known I was carrying your child for over a week, but haven’t told you” would be the truth.

I gagged and rolled off the bed, blindly reaching for my bucket and finding it just in time.

Muffled Gaelic expletives erupted from behind me as Jamie sprang into action. He tumbled over the bed and onto the floor beside me. His arm came around me, supporting me from behind as he held back my hair.

“I’m sorry,” I sobbed.

For not telling you, for withholding my heart, for waking you up, and everything in between.

“Shh, mo chridhe,” he crooned, rubbing my back. “‘Twill be better soon.”

I set down the bucket and turning around to bury my face in his chest. His arms came around me, his head bending to place a kiss atop my head. I felt him tremble beneath me and realized with a start that he was crying too.

He knew.

The feeling of dismay surged thru me. My limbs went numb, my womb clenched around the babe I held within me, my chest heaved with the effort it took to take a shallow breath.

He knew and he was disappointed.

In all of my fears of the future, in every change I knew this baby would bring, I never once expected Jamie to react this way. I had assumed he’d take the news positively.

But the news hadn’t come from you.

I had promised him honesty, yet kept the very existence of his son from him. I had told someone else the news before him and left him to hear it second hand from the castle’s housekeeper. Or who knows how many people Mrs Fitz had told, he could have heard it from anyone.

How could he be anything but disappointed?

“I’m sorry, Jamie,” I whispered. “I should have told you the moment I knew.”

“I kenned ye would, in your own time,” his voice gentle as stood, placing me back on the bed and laying down beside me, holding me close as he spoke again, “‘Tis verra bad then? Is there no cure? No herbs ye can try?”

“I have and they don’t work,” I answered dismally, thinking of the peppermint tea I had been drinking almost religiously.

“What if we sent for Collum’s physician from Edinburgh? He’s a learned man, maybe he kens a cure.”

My heart warmed at his adamant insistence to find relief from my morning sickness. “Jamie, there is no cure, we just have to wait it out. It won’t last forever.”

“Nae, mo nighean donn,” he cried out. The desperation in his voice sent shivers down my spine and he all but strangled me in his tight embrace. “I willna let ye die.”

Let me die?

I tried to pull away, to see his face, but Jamie was having none of it.

“For heaven’s sake, Jamie, I’m not going to die!” I huffed, trying to wriggle out of his grasp.

His arms suddenly loosened and I stared up at him in confusion. Even in the dark, I could tell he was completely pale, his blue eyes wide with panic. “What are ye saying, Claire?”

“Morning sickness is a completely normal part of pregnancy. It’ll go away as the baby grows,” I explained slowly, wondering how on earth he went from being disappointed over the news to fearing for my life.

Jamie’s mouth opened and shut wordlessly before swallowing hard and asking in hushed amazement, “You’re with child?”

Jamie had thought I was ill and dying and hadn’t told him. He hadn’t heard my news from someone else, he didn’t know.

Tears sprang to my eyes as I took his face in my hands, whispering back, “Yes.”

His shoulders sagged with relief and I wrapped my arms about his neck as he held me close. “A dhia, Sassenach, ye scared me so.”

“I’m sorry,” I murmured, feeling him chuckle against me. The low, resonating sound calmed me to my very core. “You’re happy, then?”

Jamie rolled me onto my back, his hand traveling down my body and resting just above my hips. His fingers traced smooth circles over the place where our unborn child grew within me.

“Aye, mo chridhe, verra happy, indeed.”

…

“Sassenach!”

I had drifted asleep in Jamie’s arms but now woke with a jolt to find his face in mine, dawn’s first light illuminating it in shades of yellow and red.

“Ah!” I screeched, followed by a more subdued, “Jesus H Roosevelt Christ.”

“Ye jumped out of a window! An’ we’ve… I’ve lain with ye! More than lain with ye, I’ve–”

“I remember,” I interrupted him, sleepily smiling as I rubbed my hand across my eyes.

“But the bairn!”

I was having trouble following his change in topics and asked, “What about him?”

Jamie let out a Scottish noise of exasperation.

“Is he harmed? Christ, Claire, if I’ve done something to–”

“No,” I assured him, now fully awake as I realized what he was about. “The baby is alright.”

His brows were drawn tightly together in worry, “Are ye sure?”

Stretching luxuriously, I pressed myself against the length of him, my toes brushing the tops of his feet as my fingers played with the curls at the nape of his neck.

“Very,” I murmured.

He kissed me long and hard before breaking away to study my face. His blue eyes were intense in their concerned scrutiny. I felt completely bare as he saw deep into my soul, asking, “And ye, Sassenach? Are ye happy?”

I couldn’t look away as I answered honestly, “I’m scared, Jamie.”

He knew this without me having to tell him, I knew he did, but it was so freeing to speak the words aloud. Tears began to form unbidden and threatened to spill onto my cheeks as he pressed his forehead against mine, his eyes closing as he whispered, “So am I, mo chridhe.”

..

July 24th, 1743; Leoch.

“Good morning,” Jamie murmured into my neck, his lips brushing my skin as he held me close.

He was more awake than I was and in a far better mood.

“Mmm,” I groaned, swatting his tickling fingers away from my ear, “Speak for yourself.”

“Wame bothering ye again, mo nighean donn?”

The Scottish word for belly always left me thinking of the word womb, but in either case, the answer was yes.

“Again and again and again,” I grumbled.

Jamie’s hands drifted downwards, his fingers hovering over the area I had shown him. “Can ye feel him move?”

I shook my head, “He’s too small.”

“But soon?” His voice was eager, almost impatient. I couldn’t see his smile, but I heard it in his voice.

“No, it will be a while yet.”

Jamie was quiet for a while, as if he were envisioning the little one growing within me.

“When? When will he come?”

This gave me pause.

When would the baby come?

June - July - August - September - October - November - December - January - February - March

“Middle to the end of March.”

He sighed, “What a bonnie time to be born, mo nighean donn, in the spring. ‘Tis when all the creatures of the forest and byre and moor have their bairns, aye?

I rolled over to find him grinning like a cat who had just stolen the cream. Narrowing my eyes and trying not to smile myself, I poked him in the ribs, “If you’re comparing me to a cow, James Fraser…”

“Nae, no’ a coo,” he grabbed hold of my hand, his eyes twinkling, “but a mother hen, perhaps?”

Pulling him closer, I slid my arms around him and nestled my head under his chin.

My heartbeat immediately slowed as I felt and heard his strong, steady pulse.

All will be well, it echoed. All will be well.

Could all really be well? Could I find happiness here, in Jamie’s arms, while Frank’s lay empty? Could I choose to honor my vow to Jamie over the vow I had made to Frank?

Maybe, my heart whispered, just maybe.

“If I’m a hen, what does that make you?” I shoved my questions aside and asked one of Jamie.

“The cock o’ the roost, Sassenach.”

…

“What is that?” I asked, squinting at a lump on the floor near the bed. Daylight was just starting to stream thru the window and left the room deeply in shadow.

Jamie’s head popped out of his sark and he looked about the room, “What is what?”

“On the floor,” I pointed.

“Where?” He turned around in a full circle, eyes on the floor, looking very much like a dog chasing its tail. “I dinna see anything.”

I moved towards the object and nudged it with my toe, but immediately pulled my foot back, exclaiming, “Ow! It’s got thorns.”

Jamie came up beside me, bending to pick up the offending bundle. It looked like a strange posy of flowers, with blades of withered grass and thorny twigs bent into strange shapes.

“What is it?” I inquired.

He didn’t answer me but strode across the room, throwing it into the fire as soon as he was close enough. The flames swallowed it quickly and I heard him utter something in Latin under his breath. A chill ran down my spine as I realized he was praying… an almost silent petition for safety against those who would wished us harm.

Whatever the thing was, it was not benevolent.

“Jamie,” I asked in a low voice, “how did that get under our bed?”

“Laoghaire,” he spat the name.

Fury swelled within me at the mention of the blonde strumpet who made no attempt to hide her feelings for my husband. She openly stared, pining away at the other end of the great hall during dinner.

I’d become aware of the rumors she’d tried to spread when I overheard a conversation that ended with, “But I canna believe it, for I’ve never seen a lad so besotted in all my days, have ye? Trails after her like a lovesick puppy, he does, an’ the lass is nae different. Ye can never find her in the surgery o’ an afternoon for she’s always at the stables. ‘Tis a wonder the lad can get any work done wi’ his mind in the bedchamber.”

An almost smug sense of possession slowly encroached upon my anger as I remembered Jamie’s words the night we had returned to Leoch.

You are mine. Mine, mo nighean donn.

I was the one he lay claim to, the one he desired, the one who warmed his bed.

It was me who he reached for in the dark of the night, whose name he called out at his climax, who carried his child.

His response in this moment rid me of any doubt of his feelings words the girl. He was smoldering with rage, I wouldn’t have been at all surprised to see smoke billowing out of his ears. Doing his best to conceal his feelings but failing miserably, he turned to me and spoke, “Dinna fash, Sassenach, I’ll speak to the lass.”

“No, you won’t,” I stated emphatically.

His brows rose, no small amount of annoyance in his voice, “An’ why not?”

“She obviously didn’t get the message last time. What makes you think she’ll listen to you now?” I explained reasonably before bringing him back to the object that was now crumbling into ash, “What was it?”

“An ill-wish,” he bristled.

“I thought you didn’t believe in such things.”

He shook his head, “‘Tis a threat, Sassenach, an’ no’ one I’ll let go unanswered.”

“Just who is threatening you, Laoghaire or this?” I gestured vaguely to the fire.

Jamie stepped closer, his eyes alight. “The ill-wish is meant for you.”

“Then let me be the one to handle it.”


	4. By Your Side

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The castle learns of Claire's pregnancy and she assists Jamie in the stables.

July 30th, 1743; Castle Leoch.

I jumped at the sound of someone clearing their throat and turned to find Murtagh standing in the doorway of my surgery.

“I, ah, beggin’ yer pardon, lass,” he stammered as he doffed his hat. “I didna mean to startle ye,”

“No, it’s quite alright,” I assured him and waved him inside. He stepped forward tentatively, making my blood run cold and a question tumble from my lips.

“Has something happened?”

“Ach, nae, lass! Nothin’ o’ the sort. Jamie’s just fine, last I saw him, but he said- ah, tha’ is, I thought ye might- ifrinn,” he trailed off and glowered at me.

I bit my lip to keep from smiling.

I’d never seen Murtagh so tongue tied before. Not that he spoke all that much, but what he did say was always short and to the point. The man that stood before me was clearly at a loss for words and I hadn’t the faintest idea of what he was getting at.

Shifting from foot to foot, he tried again, “Do ye need me to, ah, fetch ye anythin’? More water or wee plants from the garden or such? The lad willna be in from the far pasture til the evenin’ meal an’ I didna want ye to be in need while he was away, ye ken.”

“No, thank you,” I answered slowly, wondering what on earth had prompted his offer. “I’m well situated at present.”

He nodded gravely, placing his worn hat back on his head. “Aye, well, I willna be far.”

With that he turned and left.

What was that all about?

…

Jamie didn’t make it back to the castle before the meal, leaving me solo amid the myriad of noxious smells that passed for dinner at Leoch. Scents were a constant battle for me and I fought nausea at every meal. Geillis was in attendance tonight, but she was doing little to distract me from my stomach.

In fact, she was only adding to my discomfort.

“Enough about my husband, what about yours?” Geillis asked with a coquettish smile.

“What about him?” I replied cautiously, swallowing hard.

She dug a rather sharp elbow into my ribs. “Well, what d’ye think? Does he look as nice out of his sark as he does in it?”

Oh God, does he ever.

Uncle Lamb had taken me to see Michelangelo’s David the summer we were in Italy, but its chiseled features had nothing on my husband. It was my professional medical opinion that a more perfect pairing of oblique and gluteus maximus muscles didn’t exist.

“Um…” I groped for an answer as I tried to get my brain out of the bedroom.

“Then ‘tis true?” she whispered.

I panicked, imagining the new lie Laoghaire had spun and was feeding the gossip mill, “Is what true?”

“About the thumbs?”

“Thumbs? Geillis, what in God’s name are you talking about?”

“Surely ye ken that? A man’s thumb will tell you the size of his cock, Claire! Great toes too, of course, but those are harder to judge, what wi’ the shoon and all.” She nodded towards Jamie, who had just appeared, as if summoned, in the doorway of the great hall, “Yon wee fox cub looks as though he could cup a good plenty in those hands of his, hm?”

“Geillis Duncan, will - you - shut - up! Someone will hear you!” I hissed, my face flaming.

“No one of importance,” She waved the idea away and grinned cheekily, her voice rising a decibel or two. “Besides, they ken he’s got ye wi’ child already, ‘twould no’ be a shock for me to commend him.”

If Laoghaire were in the room, I’d have strangled her on the spot, and I very nearly strangled Geillis in her stead.

I could see the girl’s look of pure hate when I told her I was carrying Jamie’s child, the image forever ingrained in my mind. She was not one to let things be and I knew the moment the words left my mouth that gloating this fact was a mistake. She’d even had the gall to suggest, to my face, that the baby wasn’t Jamie’s.

Part of me was surprised she hadn’t spun that into her tale.

“Jesus H Roosevelt Christ, shut up!” I pinched her hard beneath the table. “Its none of your business!”

She took on a look of complete innocence as Jamie sat down on the other side of me. He smiled apologetically and squeezed my hand as he poured himself a glass of wine. I was surprised there was any left, for Geillis seemed to have drank far more than her share.

“Oh, aye? Well,” The sly smile was back in Geillis’ green eyes. “I dinna ken about that, Claire, for the entire castle kens it to be true.”

“Kens wha’?” Jamie asked as he took a sip.

“That ye got your wife wi’ child on your wedding night.”

He choked on the liquid, his face quickly matching the deep crimson of the wine.

…

it was ungodly hot in here. Sweat trickled down the back of my neck as I tried to breathe thru my mouth and not my nose. The stench of the unwashed Highlander across from me was enough to fumigate an entire city block and, when combined with whatever the hell that was, it was all I could do not to vomit onto my plate. The man dished himself another helping of the concoction, sending a fresh barrage of fumes my way.

“She hasna the sense God gave a goose, ye ken,” Geillis tittered on, oblivious to my discomfort and Jamie’s barely concealed rage. The grating sound of Geillis’ voice swelled with each wave of nausea, her every intonation making the bile rise in my throat.

I gripped Jamie’s arm as my head began to spin.

“Are ye alright?” he whispered, bringing his face very near mine.

Gagging as the smell of his breath overwhelmed my senses, I got out an emphatic no before he swept me off the bench and made for the door.

A combination of sheer willpower and the breeze created by Jamie’s movements kept the inevitable at bay until we made it into the passageway on the other side of the door. He wasn’t able to avoid the mess, and took the brunt of it upon himself as we came to a sudden stop.

“I’m sorry,” I croaked between dry heaves, the both of us now wet with my warm, pungent vomit.

Jamie managed a wry grin, answering, “Dinna fash, Sassenach, I’ve been covered in worse.”

He didn’t turn to go towards the stairs that led to our chamber, but continued down the passageway ahead of us.

“Where are we going?” The back of my throat burned, my words little more than a whisper.

“Your surgery,” he replied, “‘tis cooler, aye?”

It was. For all it’s cave-like disadvantages, it did remain cool in the heat of the day.

Jamie pushed the door open with his shoulder and the chilled, damp air welcomed us. He set me down gently atop the stool near my work table, then moved about the room in a determined frenzy. The empty bucket I used for such a time as this was placed in front of me, the door was latched and locked, the basin was filled with fresh water and a clean cloth found, and the bed in the corner prepared for an occupant. All of this completed, he shed his soiled shirt and knelt in front of me.

“Wha’ can I do, mo nighean donn?”

I took a deep, shuddering breath and leaned forward, resting my head on his shoulder.

“I think you’ve already done it.”

…

“Did you tell Murtagh about the baby?” I mumbled, half asleep, sometime later.

I hoped Murtagh had heard the news from Jamie and not from someone else, as Laoghaire had saw fit to broadcast my condition to the entire castle.

Jamie brushed the hair off my neck, replacing it with a kiss, before responding with a rumbling, “Umhmm.”

Murtagh’s random visit suddenly made sense, and was far more endearing than I had registered in the moment.

“Why do ye ask?”

“He stopped by to make sure I was alright while you were gone,” I explained.

“Gone?” Jamie’s confusion was evident, “I didna go anywhere, Sassenach.”

I smiled, “Apparently, the far pasture was entirely too unreachable for his liking.”

A knock sounded at the door, followed by the godfather in question’s muffled voice asking, “Are ye within, Jamie?”

Speak of the devil…

Jamie made a sort of growling noise deep in his throat and pulled me closer. “Ignore him and he’ll go away.”

I couldn’t help but laugh at the face he made.

“Shh, Sassenach,” he whispered, silencing me by giving me a breathtaking kiss.

It worked.

“I ken ye can hear me, ye wee gomerel,” Murtagh muttered as he tried to open the door, but found it latched. He shook it a time or two, testing the strength of the lock, before uttering something in Gaelic and giving up.

His footsteps echoed in the passageway and I knew he’d left.

“What did he say?” I grinned as Jamie’s ears turned pink.

“Somethin’ about stabling a broodmare with an ass,” he grumbled good-naturedly. “‘Twas a complement to ye, to be sure, mo nighean donn, just not to me.”

“What a pity,” I quipped, taking his mouth in mine as my hands drifted further south, “ for your ass is worth complementing.”

Jamie tipped his head back and laughed in earnest, “I dinna think ‘twould sound the same coming from him, Sassenach.” 

...

August 6th, 1743; Castle Leoch.

“You’re changing, Sassenach,” Jamie’s breath tickled the back of my neck as he came to stand behind me, bending to murmur into my ear. He slipped his arms around me and pulled me tightly against him.

My eyes flew to his in the mirror, finding an unconcealed gleam of desire there that accompanied his sudden firmness. Whatever changes he saw, he obviously liked them. A grin spread across his face that I could only describe as prideful and I quipped, “Am I?”

This wasn’t any surprise, I was well aware of the changes my body was undertaking. The fastenings of my stays no longer tied in the same place and it was becoming increasingly difficult to fit into my bodice. Never one to lack in the bosom and bottom category, my figure was rapidly changing, leaving me with mixed feelings. I would be lying if I said I wasn’t a little self-conscious of my figure at present.

You’re not plump, Beauchamp, I sternly reminded myself. You’re pregnant.

“Oh, aye,” Jamie’s hands caressed the very area I was thinking about, gently putting pressure above my pubic bone. I squirmed and he stopped, lifting his hands to cup each breast instead. “Ye grow more magnificent wi’ each day.”

“Is that what you call it?” I let out a faint laugh, tugging my bodice into place and shying away.

He turned me to face him, placing a hand on either side of my face as he waited for me to look at him, “Ye wouldna, mo nighean donn?”

I whispered, not able to hold his gaze, “No - I mean, I don’t - it’s not that I’m not - I just… I don’t know.”

Jamie gently brought my lips to his, slowly kissing me, keeping his face near mine as he spoke.

“Dinna ever think that I find ye anything but the most beautiful woman in all the world.” He pulled me closer to him, never breaking eye contact as he did so. “Ye have this glow about ye, mo chridhe, like the light that’s in your eyes when we’re joined, but it never leaves. ‘Tis always there. ‘Tis as if ye ken a wonderful secret that ye canna put words to, an’ in a way ye do.”

One hand traveled to the small of my back, pressing me even closer against him. “Ye carry my child, a bheanachd, tucked away deep within’ ye. Only ye can feel him, provide for him. All I can do is rejoice every day in watchin’ him grow within ye, to delight in seeing ye grow thick with my child.”

I pressed my forehead against his, my eyes sliding shut. He picked me up and carried me to the bed, sitting down on the edge. I wrapped my legs about him and buried my face into his neck in an instant.

His arms held me tight as I whispered, “Thank you.”

…

Jamie burst into my surgery and flew across the room to me. Without a word, he snatched away the jar I’d been holding, taking a firm hold of my wrists. He suddenly backtracked, dragging me towards the door he had just entered and to where Leoch’s stable master stood.

Alec MacKenzie’s presence in my doorway wasn’t a complete shock. He’d come seeking relief from his rheumatics a time or two, when the weather was right. Auld Alec was a crotchety old fellow, but I liked him well enough.

Yet, as to why the two of them were in my surgery was beyond me.

“Aye, that’s verra well,” Auld Alec broke the silence as he examined my hands, Jamie having all but shoved them in the man’s face, “but the arms, man? Has she the arm for it?”

“Look!” Jamie stretched my arm out straight, measuring it along one of his.

“Well, could do,” he pondered. “Aye, it could.”

Could do for what? What the bloody hell was going on?

“Would either of you care to tell me wha–”

My question was cut short as I was unceremoniously tugged thru the door and jostled about.

The two tittered on loudly about one of Colum’s horses, Losgann, by name, that was having trouble foaling.

The mare had historically foaled without incident, but this go of things was becoming problematic as the foal seemed to be breach. I thought this was really more of a job for one of the stable hands and not me. Especially since it seemed my hands were what they were after.

What about Rodrick? Couldn’t he do this? He was a good, strong lad and he certainly knew horses better than I did.

A sinking feeling formed in the pit of my stomach as I remembered splinting his fractured right arm, not two days before.

Damn. Maybe that did leave me the job.

“What exactly do you want me to do?” I asked tentatively.

“Turn the foal, of course,” Jamie paused in the entryway of the stable and blinked down at me as if I had asked him what color the sky was. “Bring the forelegs round so it can get out.”

Oh, is that all?  
…

I sagged against the wall of the large box stall, completely drained. I felt very much like I had just given birth myself. It had taken hours and a great deal of effort, but the foal was finally here, safe and sound.

Jamie put an arm around my waist and led me from the stall, “Let’s get ye cleaned up, aye?”

We stepped into the tack room, Jamie closing the door behind us. He eased me down onto a low, three legged stool and set about ridding me of my impromptu scrubs. The large sark came off easily, taking much of the overwhelming stench with it. Jamie used it to wipe the first layer of blood and slime off, then set about washing my right arm with the rag and bucket of water he had set nearby.

“I can do this myself, you know,” I blinked owlishly up at him.

“Oh, aye, I ken,” he suppressed a grin and I nudged him with my toe, making him laugh.

“I can too,” I mumbled with more conviction than I felt.

He expertly schooled his features, but the glint of humor was still in his eyes as he solemnly vowed, “Never doubted it for a moment, Sassenach.”

…

I slept like the dead.

A fuzzy sort of voice drifted into my dreamlike state, asking, “Are ye alive under there, Sassenach?”

I peeked out from the bed covers and found my husband towering above me, looking amused, yet slightly concerned. Rubbing my eyes, I mumbled, “I’m not sure.”

With a grin and a look of relief, he moved out of my field of vision.

“Did I miss breakfast?” I inquired as I realized I was starving.

“Miss breakfast, cadalaiche?” He laughed, “ye would have missed the noon meal as well, if I didna wake ye up!”

I sat up in astonishment, “What?”

He draped my clothes over the side of the chair next to the bed, sitting on the edge of it.

“Should I bring ye something to eat or would ye like to go below?”

Pulling back the covers, I swung my feet to the floor, muttering, “Keep your shirt on, I’m coming.”

…

Fully fed, I walked with Jamie to the stables to see how my equine patients were doing. The foal was up and wobbling happily about. Mama Losgann was always near, but was content to let the gangling little thing explore their new world.

“The foal’s birth has been on my mind,” Jamie started without preamble.

I turned to find that he was wrestling to put words to his thoughts. Instead of interrupting the process by questioning him, I simply placed my hand over his on the fence rail. He looked down at it absently, then went back to studying Losgann and her foal.

“The mare’s foaled two, nae three times without assistance, easy as ye please. I’ve watched many a foal be born, Sassenach, wee coos and pups as well. ‘Tis the natural way o’ the world, but ye ken just as well as I do tha’ sometimes bairns need a guiding hand. Leoch has a midwife of its own, ye ken, and her young lass is learning as well, I’ve heard.”

Nodding, I squeezed Jamie’s hand. I hadn’t approached Leoch’s midwife about my pregnancy just yet, but she had a very good reputation amid the women of the castle.

“My mother died in childbirth when I was eight,” Jamie’s voice caught and he swallowed hard. “She had a skilled midwife to attend her and yet…” he trailed off, taking me into his arms. I felt him shudder before continuing, “She was strong, she was healthy… She’d safely delivered three bairns before that, and still she died.”

“I know,” I whispered, holding him tight.

“What if,” his hand came up to cup the back of my head, his lips buried in my hair and muffling his words. “What if something happens to ye, or to the bairn?”

“It won’t,” I hollowly reassured him.

His grip was suddenly constricting, squeezing the very air from my lungs in its ferocity.

“I ken, mo chridhe, but I canna stand the thought of ye being in pain, knowing that I caused it. Knowing that I am the reason ye have to endure it, and yet I’m unable to bear it for ye. I would, Claire!” he vowed emphatically, “I would take the pain for ye, could I, an’ ye’d no’ bear it alone!”

“I won’t bear it alone, Jamie,” I pushed against him, only to find him set on suffocating me. “Like you said, I’ll have help from the midwife and I know you won’t be far.”

“I’ll no’ leave your side, if ye wish it, mo chridhe. Propriety be damned.”


	5. Maybe

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Claire has an uneasy feeling about her pregnancy and consults Leoch's midwife.

August 13th, 1743; Leoch

“Out with it, Sassenach,” Jamie sighed into the darkness, interrupting my internal musings.

“Hmm?”

The mattress shifted as he rolled onto his side and faced me.

“I can hear ye thinkin’ all the way over here.”

“Oh?” I scowled at him. “Then do tell me what it is I’m thinking about.”

“The bairn,” his voice was matter of fact, yet held a tone of such understanding that it made me reach out my hand to find his. Taking it, he gently massaged my palm with his thumbs. “Something has had ye lost in your thoughts all day, mo nighean donn. What is it? What has ye bothered so?”

How do I explain it?

My mind scrambled as I tried to think of a way to put words to the overwhelming sense that something wasn’t entirely as it should be. Nothing was wrong, per say, yet I couldn’t shake the feeling and I couldn’t put my finger on it long enough to give it a name.

“It’s just that I don't… well, something feels… something isn't… I’m not sure if I'm…” I let out my breath in a huff, “I’m confused.”

Jamie scooched closer and slid his arms around me, gathering me against his chest. He didn’t speak, waiting instead for me to gather my thoughts.

“I thought I knew what my body should be doing at this stage, but, well…” I trailed off.

“Somethin’ isna as ye thought it would be?” Jamie supplied after a moment.

How did he do that? How could he read my mind so accurately?

“Yes,” I grumbled, feeling slightly affronted that he could put words to my thoughts when I could not.

His hand cupped the back of my head, cradling me as he asked, “Have ye spoke to the midwife?”

Mistrust and skepticism surged within me as I thought of Leoch’s midwife. I hadn’t approached her for the sole reason that I wasn’t sure what I would do if I found her to be an eighteenth-century farce who had very little bedside manner and even less knowledge of childbirth. Of course, logic reasoned that I’d heard more than one story of her good deeds in my tenure as healer to the castle people, but that didn’t mean she’d meet my standards.

“No,” I admitted.

“Mhmm,” he acknowledged. “Maybe Mrs Fitz could help. Ye’ve asked her questions before when ye didna ken which way was up.”

I’d already thought of that.

She’d only tell me not to worry, or rather she’d pat me on the shoulder and croon dinna fash, lass. She’d undoubtedly assure me that every pregnancy was different and that every woman carried a child differently. I didn’t need to be told that nothing was wrong, I felt that with a good measure of confidence, I needed someone to help me decipher the messages my body was giving me.

My arms tightened around him as I pressed my face against his chest, needing to feel his reassuring, steady heartbeat.

Maybe I was being overly sensitive to the changes my body was going thru.

Maybe I was wrong, maybe all was as it should be. I hadn’t come into medical contact with many women who were this early in their pregnancy, after all.

“Maybe,” I whispered.

...

September 29th, 1743; Leoch.

I opened the door of my surgery and came face to face with Leoch’s midwife, the very person I’d been working up the courage to seek out for the last two weeks. She was a tiny little thing, the top of her head barely came up to my chest, and much younger than I had envisioned. I felt a measure of relief as I noticed her bandaged hand and knew she wasn’t here to discuss my pregnancy.

“I dinna wish to trouble ye, Mistress Claire-”

“No, not at all,” I interrupted her, “please come in.”

She dutifully followed me to my work table, where I had plenty of light to inspect her wound. The cut wasn’t very large, spanning her right, index distal phalanx, but it was deep enough to need stitching.

It was still bleeding, and I instructed her on how to better stem the flow before walking away to gather my necessary items. We spoke of the unseasonably warm weather and other trivialities as I moved about the room, the normality of the situation lulling me into a quiet calm.

Was this was the opportunity I needed?

I returned with an easier heart, and was pleased to find the bleeding had slowed, revealing a relatively clean wound. Nature had done most of the work for me and the blood flow had rid the gash of any debris. It would only need a few swabs of the alcohol before I stitched it closed. The task was done before I was ready and I fiddled with the bandage as I tried to think of a way to broach the subject.

“Out with it, lass,” she admonished, “or ‘twill swallow ye whole.”

I started, pulling the wrapping tighter than I intended and she winced.

“Sorry,” I murmured as I quickly finished. My hands left hers, instinctively hovering over the swell I knew she couldn’t see. I hadn’t a clue what to say to break the awkward silence that fell.

“I think… I mean, I don’t know, exactly, but I…” I trailed off, staring stupidly at my lap. “I think I’m bigger than I should be.”

Completely nonplussed, she asked, “Would ye have me take a look, then?”

I hesitantly nodded and she patted my arm.

“Dinna fash,” she assured me as we crossed the room, heading towards the small cot that often served as my examination table. She perched on the edge of the bed like a songbird taking roost, “I’ve seen just about everythin’ an’ what I havena seen, I’ve felt myself, birthin’ four bairns o’ my own.”

I felt more than a little self-conscious as I lifted my skirts, and she squeezed my hand reassuringly before beginning to examine me. Her eyes slid shut in concentration, her head tilting to one side while her hands did the work. The bandaged digit was held aloft, sticking it out to avoid unwanted jostling.

“How far along are ye?” She inquired.

“About three months.”

Three months, two weeks, and, give or take, four days.

Her brows furrowed as her hands stilled, “Are ye sure of your dates?”

“Yes,” I replied, a little too quickly. She gazed down at me with an amused smirk, and I felt my face flame as I stammered, “I, ah, was married the eleventh of June.”

The smile blossomed into a full grin as she tipped her head back and laughed.

“Oh, aye? Then ye’ve given your lad a mighty fine wedding gift, to be sure.”

…

“Jamie?” I called cautiously into the dim interior of the stables.

The walk here had hardly given me a chance to gather my thoughts. One moment, I was sure I had them neatly in a row, each emotion identified and acknowledged; the next, they shot off every which way, leaving me in a jumbled mess of tears, fears, and hormones.

“Here, Sassenach,” was his reply.

I stepped in, pausing a moment to allow my eyes to adjust before heading towards the sound of his voice. It was surprisingly cool within, and I breathed a sigh of relief as the familiar scents of hay, horses, and leather did nothing to make my stomach heave. I could hear Jamie speaking Gaelic in hushed tones, and it had very much the same calming effect on me as it did the horse he was working on.

“Hello,” I greeted him softly, standing at the entrance of the stall he was in.

He gave me a warm smile in return, moving from behind the mare to place a gentle kiss on my temple, “Hello to ye, mo nighean donn.”

“I met the midwife,” I whispered as I leaned into him, unsure if we had an audience.

“Oh, aye?” His arms encircled me in an embrace that melted me to my very core. “Did ye ask her?”

I simply nodded, unsure of how to continue now that I’d begun the conversation.

“Is she sure?” a tremulous qualm ran thru me at his question and I felt his heartbeat race against my cheek, the thundering echo reminding me that I wasn’t alone in any of this.

Alone. I would never, truly, be alone again, would I? Not while life grew within me, not while I could cradle such a love close to me in my arms.

“Yes.”

“A dhia, Claire,” I clung to him as he breathlessly spoke aloud the word I had been treasuring in my heart.

"Twins.”


	6. When the Bough Breaks

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Claire encounters the changeling child in the forest.

October 8th, 1734; near Leoch

“What was that?”

Geillis paused a moment before responding, “It’s nothing but the wind, Claire.”

“No, listen,” I urged. In a moment, the sound came again. It was weaker this time, almost imperceptible, but my blood ran cold as I realized what it was.

It was a baby.

Dropping my basket, I plunged into the underbrush in the general direction of the infant’s cry.

“That’s a faerie hill!” Geillis hissed as she pulled me back towards the path, her eyes wide.

“What the hell are you talking about?”

“That baby is no human child, it’s a changeling,” she impatiently explained, “When the faeries steal a human child away, they leave one of their own in it’s place. You know it’s a changeling because it doesna thrive and grow,”

I pried her fingers from my arm and turned away, “That’s just superstitious nonsense!”

“Claire!” she spun me back around to face her, “If you leave a changeling overnight in such a place, they’ll return the child they’ve stolen!”

“But they won’t because it’s not a changeling, it’s a sick child, and it might not very well survive a night out in the open,” I spat. “I have to go!”

“You go yourself, then, and good luck to you!” She dismissed me with a wave of her hand and disappeared into the fog.

The plaintive wail was closer now, pulling me ever onward and upward by my heart strings. It was a steep climb and the forest floor was slippery with wet leaves and mud. I struggled to find traction, grabbing onto branches and rocks in a desperate attempt to reach the abandoned child.

I burst into the clearing atop the hill and spotted the foundling nestled in the crook of large branch, laying completely still.

“Oh God,” I choked, my hands shaking as I gently lifted the tiny bundle from its resting place. The infant’s eyelids flickered and my heart soared as I realized it was still alive, then clattered to a stop as I took in its sunken eyes and deathly pallor.

The babe lay limp in my arms, making no effort to curl into my body for warmth or nourishment. It made a choking, wheezing sound as it fought to take another breath and I eased into an upright position against my chest, the crown of its downy head brushing my chin. I gently rubbed its back as I slowly bounced, swaying side to side. My tears mingled with the rain and an icy chill settled upon me. I clung to the baby, willing it to breathe, to fight to stay alive.

Oh, God.

There was nothing I could do. For all of my medical training, I was absolutely powerless to save this poor, helpless child. I couldn’t staunch the blood flow of a wound. I couldn’t give the relief of a salve or herbal tonic. I could do nothing but sit and wait as the baby’s life drained away.

“I’m sorry,” I sobbed as I slid to the ground, pulling my knees up as close as the baby in my arms and the growing swell of new life within me would allow, “I’m so sorry.”

Hunching over, I rocked back and forth, back and forth, back and forth until everything went numb. The forest around me faded away into a solid white fog. I couldn’t feel my hands, my feet; just the baby’s cold, clammy skin against mine. I couldn’t hear the sound of the rain on the leaves or the wind in the trees, the only sound that could reach me was the death rattle of the baby’s lungs.

Time stood still in the interminable silence between the baby’s breaths, each pause longer than the last.

Shifting the baby in my arms, I hummed the only lullaby I knew, my mother’s favorite song.

Oh, I do like to be beside the seaside.

My fingers memorized the curves of it’s tiny ear, the perfect arch of it’s brows.

Oh, I do like to be beside the sea.

I cupped the baby’s tiny head in my palm and placed a kiss on it’s button nose as it quietly slipped away to be forever held in the arms of the angels.

…

“Sassenach?”

Jamie’s voice floated thru the fog, a glowing beacon guiding me to a safe harbor. The mist surrounding me lifted for a moment, and I raised my head in time to watch him enter the clearing.

“I was too late,” I whispered as he sank to the ground before me.

“Aye, mo nighean donn,” he murmured, taking my face in his hands.

“I came up here… and the baby… was still alive, but… I couldn’t… I couldn't…” Understanding filled his eyes without my having to finish the sentence. His hands were warm as he brushed away my tears. “They just left it out here to die, Jamie!”

“Aye, I ken.”

He was silent for a time before bringing one hand to rest on the lifeless bundle in my arms. I could see the battle of emotions playing out in his eyes, echoing the war in my own heart. Sorrow, outrage, and terror fought to take control, but it was a quiet sort of resolve that won out in the end.

“You have a kind heart, but you’ve no idea what you’re dealing with.”

Jamie backed away slightly, offering out his arms.

I tore my eyes away from him to look down at the baby once more. I knew I would have to leave it here and, yet, I also knew I couldn’t bear to do so. The child had already been left alone in the forest once. How could I possibly abandon it for a second time?

“Thig, mo ghràidh, come,” he coaxed, sliding his hands beneath the baby.

I resisted only for a moment before I caught sight of his face.

Tears welled in the fathomless blue depths of his eyes as he took the child into his arms, cradling it with a reverent tenderness. His lips formed a wordless supplication to the heavens as he stood, hesitating slightly before placing the baby back into its place in the shelter of the tree.

Crossing himself, he turned and knelt beside me.

“‘Tis dangerous to be out here alone, Sassenach.”

I pulled away from him, “Don’t tell me you believe in faeries and changelings and all that!”

“This is no’ about what I believe. These people… they’ve never been more than a day’s walk from where they were born, aye? They hear no more of the world than what Father Bain tells them in the kirk of a Sunday…” Jamie took my hands in his, brushing them against his lips as he continued, his voice breaking. “Now for the parents of that child… it might comfort them a bit to think that ‘tis the changeling that died… and to think of their own child happy and well, living forever with the faeries.”

A strangled cry escaped my lips as I buried my face in the front of his coat, pleading, “Take me home?”

…

My body was shaking uncontrollably from cold and shock by the time we reached Leoch. I was wet to the skin, my thick outer garments were sodden with the frigid rain of a Scottish September. Jamie swung down from the horse, guiding my frozen limbs to do the same. I collapsed into him the moment my feet hit the ground and he lifted me into his arms with ease.

He moved thru the winding passageways and staircases that led to our chamber at remarkable speed, somehow unhindered by inquiring castle folk. Not only that, but he had us both devoid of wet clothing and wrapped in furs and blankets on the bed before I could even register what was going on.

“Your skin’s like ice, mo nighean donn!” Concern washed over Jamie’s face as I stared up at him, unable to form the words to describe the icy numbness I felt.

Jamie hovered above me, methodically messaging the life back into my limbs. My eyes shut of their own accord as his hands roamed my body, melting me with the heat of his devotion. The dense haze that had disappeared on the ride home was threatening to return once more. Fighting against it, I slowly lifted my hand, searching, reaching for him.

“Come… here…” I murmured, my lips feeling heavy and clumsy.

Ignoring my hand entirely, Jamie gathered me into his arms instead. He was so incredibly warm. I pressed my cheek against his chest, letting the reverberating echo of his heartbeat ground me.

All is well.

All is well.

All is well.

I blinked heavily once, twice as I tried to bring the room around me into focus.

“Do that again,” he breathlessly requested.

I was more than willing to oblige, but hadn’t the foggiest idea of what I’d done, “Do what?”

“Move your eyelashes slow like tha’,” he cupped the back of my head in his hand as he explained, his thumb absently stroking my hairline. “Ye feel like a wee butterfly spreading its wings.”

Smiling lazily, I did so.

“Is that what ye mean, mo chridhe? Does it feel like that when the bairns move inside ye?”

“A little,” I whispered as the memory of the sensation flooded me with a feeling of warm euphoria, “but it’s different somehow.”

He pulled my hips tighter against him, the now discernible swell of my womb pressing into his abdomen. I tilted my head back to see his face and he kissed me. The last vestiges of frozen terror melted away as I lay in my husbands embrace, our children safely nestled between us.

All is well.


	7. In the Lion's Den

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Claire has been arrested on the charge of witchcraft and is held before trial.

October 19th, 1743; Cranesmuir, Scotland

Rough hands shoved me into the gaping hole in the ground and squarely on top of Geillis. I rolled off her with a groan, glaring at the iron grate that was now being lowered and locked above us with a deafening clang. My entire body ached from impact and I was sure to have quite the bruise come morning where my head had collided with Geillis’.

“Are you alright?” I gasped as I tried to regain the breath knocked from my lungs. I couldn’t make out her grumblings, but took the response as a sign that I hadn’t injured her significantly. “Where are we?”

She moved to sit on a rocky outcropping, wiping the mud from her hands and face, “A thieves hole.”

“Are we alone?” I inquired, cautiously examining the deep shadows of the pit.

“Oh, aye,” she spat, “with the exception of a few rats, I suppose.”

I scrambled to my feet, ignoring the throbbing of my hip, just as a large, dark shape scurried past. Suppressing a cry of alarm, I crawled onto the rock beside Geillis and tried to pull my feet up after me. The action set me off balance, sending me over backwards and onto the ground once more.

Searing pain surged through my left hip, into my lower back, and up my side as I lay in the mud. My chest tightened, both from whatever injury I had sustained from the fall and the realization of what such a jarring impact could potentially have triggered within me.

No.

I lay completely still in the mud and leaves as I desperately tried to isolate the subtle movements within me from my spasming muscles. I held my breath, becoming hypersensitive to every twitch and twinge of irregularity.

No, no, no.

I willed them to move, to show me that my fears were unfounded. My heart plummeted deeper with every moment of stillness and my head began to spin.

Oh God, no.

My soul flung wide its arms, reaching, grasping to take hold of the lives within the quiet darkness of my womb and keep them there. With trembling hands, I gently moved through familiar motions, prompting, pleading them to respond as they usually did in slow, stretching movements.

Please.

I could hear Geillis speaking to me, but her words lacked any form of meaning, the sounds jumbling and swirling above my head as her face swam into view. She pulled me into a seated position and I cried out with the force of a new wave of cramping.

God, please!

…

I was unbearably cold. My hands and feet were numb, they had been for hours. I lay shivering in the mud as the dark, dense fog of slumber began to overtake me. It cradled me in its icy embrace, offering me respite in exchange for my sorrows, but I soon found that sleep was not a fair master.

The aching pain in my hip and back disappeared as I drifted off, leaving in its stead a sort of hollow feeling, as though I had been gutted like a butchered pig. Everything around me melted away into an endless, black expanse where my every fear swirled around me with the force of a hurricane. A voice, authoritative and unknown, called out to me from the wind.

“This is all your fault.”

It repeated itself, over and over and over, each iteration holding more scorn and derision than the last. I tried to cover my ears against the venomous words, but found I couldn’t move. Strong bonds pinned my arms to my sides, lashing my body to something solid and unforgiving.

“You’ve brought this upon yourself.”

Jamie had warned me not to leave Leoch, of the dangers of being seen with Geillis Duncan, but I had soundly ignored him and fallen headlong into Laoghaire’s trap instead.

“They’re dead because of you.”

“No!” I sobbed, wanting desperately for my refutation to make it to be true, while knowing full well that it couldn’t. My cramping hadn’t ceased in the hours since I’d fallen. In fact, the steady, knifing sensation had only spread.

“It’s only a matter of time, Claire.”

With this taunt, the void around me began to glow with an eerie, sickeningly green light.

“Give them to me,” the voice coaxed, becoming sugary sweet.

I choked as the air turned noxious and a dark shape began to move out from the shadows. The green glow illuminated its edges, giving it a razor sharp silhouette as it loomed above me. My bonds became clear as the thing moved closer. They were vines, thousands of them, running from me to the menacing creature and back again. Hundreds of arms, each with a dexterous hand, slid out of the black oblivion and grabbed onto me.

I managed to croak out “let me go” before one clamped over my mouth. I chomped down hard and it’s finger snapped off between my teeth. Gagging, I spit out the sudden mouthful as the beast cursed me in its own language.

A beam of light cut through the gloom, and with it came Jamie’s voice.

“Claire?”

Not Sassenach, his friend. Not mo nighean donn, his brown haired lass. He had called out for Claire… his wife, his lover, the mother of his children.

The beast’s hold of me tightened even more, suffocating me as Jamie’s beam of light allowed me see even more of the many-armed monster who had ensnared me. I would have gasped, had I been able to breathe, as I realized what it was.

It was a tree.

Somehow alive and talking, it used its branches as arms. The hand I had bitten slapped me hard across the face and I caught the gleam of steel slicing through the air as my head snapped to the side. With a sickening crack, the arm dropped to the platform. It landed at my feet and I kicked it away as I strained against the branches, which were now beginning to give.

“Release her!” Jamie bellowed above the sound of another branch being severed.

The voice, which I now knew to be this thing, snarled back, “She’s a witch.”

“I dinna care,” he responded as he pulled himself onto the platform, positioning himself between the gigantic trunk of the tree and me. “I made a vow before God and man to protect her!”

“I am neither God nor man,” it sneered.

No, you’re a bloody fucking tree.

Jamie pointed the tip of his sword at what we both assumed was the heart of the beast. He lunged forward, shoving it into its rough bark. I screamed as another branch came out of nowhere and wrapped around his neck. His feet kicked empty air as it lifted him off the platform, dangling him above my head as he choked.

“What do you want?” I cried, “Whatever it is, you can have it!”

“You know what I want,” it sneered as it released me.

A vicious contraction tore through my abdomen, its intentions all too clear.

“If you give them to me, they’ll live forever with the fairies.”

Visions of the changeling child, blue and pallid in my arms, began to clear the fog around my head. The contraction eased and I swallowed hard, trying to think clearly.

I realized in a flash that Jamie’s feet were roughly at the level of my shoulders. Surging forwards, I pushed hard against the bottoms of his feet, guiding them to a place of leverage. I heard him gasp for air, coughing as he stood atop my shoulders.

“Dinna - give - it - anything,” he panted as he slowly regained the ability to breathe normally. “I will - live on - through the bairns - ye carry.”

The reality that I could very well loose all three of them in the same moment prompted me to ask of the tree, “How? How do I do it?”

“Claire!”

I pinched his ankles firmly, hissing, “This is my decision!”

A single branch slowly wrapped about my waist, just above my protruding bump, as the beast lifted Jamie from my shoulders and placed him next to me. He instantly tried to pry me free the moment the thing released him, but I stopped his hands with mine.

Turning my face away from him and to the tree, I begged, “Promise me they will be safe.”

It didn’t answer.

Instead, in a small crook of the branch that held me, a nest began to form. Interlocking loops of vine created the shallow sides as a leafy dome sprouted to cover the top. Everything was still for a moment; the branches, the foliage, the very air waited in anticipation for what would be revealed.

A child’s laugh wafted through the canopy over the top of the nest, making the leaves tremble in excitement. I reached out my hand and softly traced the edge of one. Jamie moved closer, outstretching his hand to do the same. The moment his finger touched one, they all fell away in a soft woosh, exposing two small children.

The toddlers sat cross legged, side by side. Two sets of big blue eyes, Jamie’s eyes, blinked back at me in curiosity. I opened up my arms and they scrambled to their feet, laughing as they ran to me.

“There’s bread, Claire,” Geillis’ hand on my shoulder yanked me from my dream, sending consciousness to attack me with the strength of a dozen men. A strangled cry escaped my lips as my children vanished into the shadows of the thieves hole, my hopes with them.

Food was the last thing I wanted right now.

“Not hungry?” My cellmate studied me carefully as she retracted the proffered moldy bannock. Closing my eyes, I tried to block out the world around me and return to my children’s embrace. I was nearly there when Geillis sighed, asking out of the blue, “Do ye love him, then?”

I neither acknowledged her question nor opened my eyes until she shook me again.

“I ken you’re awake,” she pressed. “Really love him, I mean. More than just wanting to bed him, for I ken ye want that and he does too. They all do.”

Did I? Beyond the urges of the flesh?

“He’s the father of my child,” I answered flatly, even though she knew I was precariously perched on the edge of a miscarriage.

Geillis flippantly waved my words away, adding “Tis his name ye call out in your sleep.”

“I didn’t know I did that.”

“Well, do ye?” I knew she wouldn’t let the subject drop until I’d answered her.

Jamie’s face swam into view, not looking like he had in my dream, but as he had at the time of our parting. The rising sun had lit his auburn curls aflame, there in the courtyard. Our warm breath puffed around us in the cold air as we said our goodbyes. I’d looked into his eyes, telling him to hurry back, before he’d kissed me one last time.

“Yes,” My entire body trembled with this revelation as I turned away from her in the dark.


	8. Jet Black

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Jamie rescues Claire from the witch trial.

October 20th, 1743; Inside the Courthouse

“Let us call the next witness,” bellowed the jowled examiner, dismissing the man who’d recounted my brush with the Loch Ness monster with a flick of his hand, “Laoghaire MacKenzie of Castle Leoch.”

It wasn’t a surprise, per se, to see Laoghaire step forward to cast her stone, but I also hadn’t expected it. I’d known since the very beginning that she was the one behind this whole debacle, and, yet, it seemed I’d underestimated her.

Laoghaire would stop at nothing to ensure that I was convicted guilty of witchcraft.

“She wasna Mistress Fraser when we first became acquainted,” the bitch began, “she was Mistress Beauchamp then. I came to her for a potion tha’ would open Jamie Fraser’s heart to my own.”

Wavering, she brought a white handkerchief to her cheek, eliciting a murmuring of sympathy from the crowd, “I’m sorry, tis painful to talk about.”

Jesus H Roosevelt Christ, how could anyone believe these crocodile tears?

“Did you concoct such a potion?” The examiner on the left demanded.

“It wasn’t an actual potion,” my head spun at the preposterous accusation, “I was just trying to–“

Ned Gowan leapt up from his bench, “Clearly, she’s a just a young lass with a broken heart!”

“Aye! My heart was broken,” Laoghaire rounded on him, eyes blazing, “I was the one Jamie was meant to marry!”

She quickly regained her composure, her sudden fury slipping beneath a mask of feigned grief, and started again, “When I confronted her about the potion, she said she’d taken it herself, that she needed Jamie to fall in love with her to conceal the true nature of her bastard child. She told me how she’d lain with her kelpie lover and conceived in Loch Ness and without Jamie’s affection the bairn wouldna be born human.”

My jaw dropped involuntarily as I struggled to process her words. The uproar around me spoke of their immediate comprehension, but I was still several paces behind.

I — with — what the hell?

“And—” she waited until she could be heard once more, “and that’s when she struck me.”

“This is nonsens—“

“Did you, in fact, strike this woman?” The first examiner inquired, outraged.

Yes, and if she was within reach just now, I’d gladly do so again.

”She put an ill-wish under my bed and then tried to seduce my husband!” I exclaimed instead.

…

Later, by the shores of Loch Beannacharain on the outskirts of Cranesmuir.

I cried out as the leather strap struck me once — twice — three times. Each lash tore across my shoulder blades with the searing heat of a branding iron, every stroke encouraging the mob of uneducated peasants into an even greater frenzy.

Four.

My body recoiled, pulling against the men who held my bonds. They stood firm, irresolute as they leered at me. My bare back and gaping bodice left little to their imagination, it seemed, and they made no effort to hide the pleasure they found in their job.

Five.

“Ye’ll burn, witch,” one of them spat, making Laoghaire’s parting words swarm around my head.

I’ll dance upon your ashes.

Six.

A cry, of sort I hadn’t heard since the war, pierced the air and it was with considerable shock that I realized it had come from me. I’d lost the control over my voice, I was at the mercy of the primal instincts that overtook my body in response to the unbearable pain.

Seven.

I was plunged into a soundless chasm of darkness as a ripple of agony started at my shoulders and descended into my hips. The shockwaves stole the very air from my lungs, making me wish for death itself. I felt each individual muscle constrict and release, only to do so again and again.

Eight.

I had no doubt now, none whatsoever, that I would loose them… it was only a matter of time.

Please, my spirit begged, let it be over soon.

Nine.

“Claire!”

Jamie’s voice yanked me to the surface, up and out of my pain induced stupor. I struggled to open my eyes and, suddenly, there he was; he and Murtagh. They stood back to back, swords brandished and teeth bared as they fought their way towards me.

“Hold still,” he commanded, tossing something at my head. It hit its mark and the jet rosary Colum had given me as wedding gift fell around my neck. I’d never worn it and Jamie had kept it in his sporran from the moment his uncle had given it to me.

Addressing the crowd at large, Jamie surged forward, “Jet will burn a witch’s skin, no? Still more, I should think, would the cross of Our Lord.” I wobbled as the men who’d been holding me upright let go. Jamie pulled me to him as he lifted the crucifix off my skin, “But, see? Not a mark.”

“Sir,” one of the examiners objected, “you have no place in the workings of this court!”

“I swore an oath before the altar of God to protect this woman!” Jamie roared, his arm tightening around my waist, “If you’re telling me you consider your authority to be greater than that of the Almighty, then I must inform you that I am not of that opinion, myself.”

We slowly began creep towards the edge of the crowd, moving in the general direction of Murtagh and the horses. The mob didn’t give way for us. They muttered amongst themselves, instead, as they held their ground.

“He’s the witch’s man.”  
“She’s hexed him, to be sure. Ye can see it in the lad’s eyes.”  
“Look at tha’ horse! No doubt o’ what he is, ye ken.”  
“The kelpie — He’s come to rescue his lass!”  
“Take him too!”  
“Burn him! Burn ‘em all!”

Without warning, Geillis’ voice rose over the top of the cacophony of threats and gossip, sending them all into a stunned silence.

“This woman is no witch, but I am!”

...

Numb.

I felt so incredibly numb as we rode hard, putting as much distance between us and Cranesmuir as we possibly could. The motion of the horse and Jamie’s arm around me did nothing to penetrate the transient weightlessness that had me adrift on an open sea. Nothing could reach me, could bring me back from the black abyss that ensnared me. My back and hip were silent, the pain unregistered as I moved in sync with Jamie atop Donas. I almost wished I could feel it and have some sort of anchor that would bring me back down to reality.

But, did I really want to come back to reality? Back to a world without fair trial, one that burned people at the stake for a crime that could neither be proved nor disproved? A lifetime without the two innocent lives that had once flourished within me?

No.

I didn’t want to come back.

I closed my eyes, letting the tide take me where it would and finally succumbing to the pull of shock and grief.

…

Claire.

Something solid and unmoving was beneath me as my awareness slowly returned to me. It’s damp chill seeped through my skirts as my name echoed in my ears.

Claire.

Each reverberation gained intensity as it traveled down my spine, settling into my hips. It pulsated through my bones and took a firm hold of my lower back. An angry heat accompanied the sensation as it spread across my shoulder blades, melting the wall of ice that had, until now, kept me separated from my blinding pain.

Claire.

I shook my head, fighting consciousness, but the voice - Jamie’s voice - only grew louder, his magnetic pull guiding me to the surface. His hands were on my face, his breath warm on my cheeks. I could feel him, taste him, but I remained in the dark, alone.

Jamie.

My lips refused to move and I tried again.

Jamie.

“Aye, Sassenach,” he sighed in relief, his face still hidden from view, “I’ve got ye.”

My hands trembled as they felt along to find his face. His cheeks were chilled from the wind, but the creases of his eyes betrayed the underlying heat of turmoil as his tears fell onto my fingertips before they trailed down familiar line of his cheekbones.

“Jamie…”

He took my hands in his, kissing them both before pulling me closer, onto his lap. I rested my head on his shoulder and grabbed a fistful of his shirtfront, assuring myself that he was real, that this wasn’t another horrid dream.

“Mo chridhe?”

I blinked once, twice, and suddenly the world came into focus. The muted browns and greens of the forest separated themselves from Jamie’s jacket, the brilliance of a noonday sun above me from his pale skin.

Jamie’s hand lowered to my lap, cradling the swell of my abdomen and the floodgates opened. My tears fell in torrents and my words tumbled out of my mouth before I could stop them. I told him of my fall, of my dream, and of the surety of my impending miscarriage.

The muscles of his jaw tensed as he swallowed hard, his fingers restlessly moving against the fabric of my skirt. An intense look passed over his face, his brows furrowing in thought as he uttered a single word.

“No.”

I stared up at him. Of all the ways I thought he’d take the news, I never once imagined that he wouldn’t believe me.

“What?”

Jamie half smiled, his face regaining color at a remarkable rate while something in his eyes spoke of a confidence, an intuition that I had no explanation for.

“Have… have ye had any bleeding?”

I slowly shook my head, “but that doesn’t mean —“

“Then the bairns are safe and well,” Jamie interrupted, turning me on his lap so that he could rest both hands just over my womb, “I ken it.”

“Jamie —“

“I willna stop fighting for them - for you - until the battle is over,” his chest heaved with the emotional effort it took to make his heart known, “but ‘tisna over, mo nighean donn… no’ yet.”

Then, with the care and attention of the finest nurse, he saw to my wounds, cleansing those that were visible as well as those that lay far beneath the surface. He draped his plaid over my shoulders, careful as to not upset my raw skin, and tucked the ends snugly around me. This done, he knelt at my feet, a tentative look in his eyes.

“I said before that I wouldna ask ye things ye’d no wish to tell me… and I wouldna ask it now, but I must know, for your safety as well as mine,” he clasped my hands tightly and I could feel him tremble. “Claire, if ye’ve never been honest wi’ me before, I beg ye, be so now, for I must ken the truth.”

Jamie looked down, bringing my hands to his lips. His thumbs ran back and forth over the ridges of my fingers as he wrestled with something, an internal struggle of a sort that made me wish he’d just spit it out and have it over with. I opened my mouth to tell him so when he lifted his head.

“Are ye a witch?”

…

Back on the horses, we continued to ride hard. I paid little heed to my surroundings, but, instead, turned my focus inwards. The little flicker of hope Jamie had ignited within me had grown into a steady flame and I mentally re-examined my symptoms in a new light.

My cramping hadn’t produced any spotting or discharge of any sort. Could they’ve merely been muscle spasms and not contractions? And my hip– the pain was now very localized to the area around my left greater trochanter, with angry offshoots if I moved wrong. Could I simply have a deep bruise, my hip’s bone structure taking the brunt of the impact?

All of these things would mend in time, if I was careful and took it easy.

This left the babies’ lack of activity, but the combination of my stress, jostling movements, and infrequent meals of the last thirty six hours was more reason enough for them to be still.

Could I ignore my doubts, push aside what medicine said could merely be a possibility?

Could I choose to trust in what I couldn’t see, have faith in what I couldn’t yet feel?

I won’t stop fighting for them until I know the battle is over.

Jamie’s words came back to me and I realized I had done just that. I’d stopped fighting for them when I let my fear for what might happen cripple me. I’d stopped fighting when I ceased to believe that they could be strong enough, that I could be strong enough.

I squeezed Jamie’s arm, which was securely wrapped around my waist, and slid my eyes shut as I leaned my head back against him, resting my other hand over them. I felt him turn his head towards me, anxious of my discomfort, I was sure, and lifted one corner of my mouth in reassurance.

Maybe all could, indeed, be well.

…

A warm, fuzzy glow surrounded me as I lay in Jamie’s arms. The sunlight streaming through the window behind him set every wispy curl on fire. He bent his head, his lips kissing mine in such a manner that I felt breathless, dizzy with passion. I melted into the downy mattress beneath me as his heat permeated my very core.

I gasped as he lifted the hem of my shift, a cool breeze raising gooseflesh on my thighs. His hands slid up my legs as his tongue flicked in and out of my navel, his thumbs massaging me, opening me. I tipped my head back against the pillows as I writhed with pleasure, encouragements tumbling from my lips.

I heard the rumble of his voice, felt his breath against my skin and reached out my hand to touch his face. My fingertips found rough, damp wool instead of smooth, bare skin and the sensation pulled me out of my dream. My head spun as I regained consciousness, desperately trying to sort figmentation from what was actually going on around me.

Or, more accurately, within me.

Grabbing a fistful of his shirtfront, I shifted myself into a better position. His lips found mine again and I nearly swallowed him whole. He laughed as I rose up to meet him, ready and willing.

“Please,” I urged.

Jamie shook his head, pleasure written all over his face. His lips hovered above mine in a smile that was just out of reach. I strained, lifting my face, begging him to kiss me. He did so in such a way that only made me burn hotter, that left me needing even more from him than his little game would allow. I groaned in frustration and arousal and moved against his hand. He eagerly responded, coaxing me closer and closer to the edge of oblivion.

“Now,” I insisted as I pulled his head down, “I need you inside me now.”

A low rumble of delight started somewhere near his toes, gaining intensity as it worked its way to his face and burst forth into a grin I could only describe as cheeky, ”No’ just yet. I want to watch ye.”

…

A new day dawned as Murtagh and Jamie readied the horses. The icy stream made my morning ablutions a bit brisk, but it was wonderful to wash the last reminders of the thieve’s hole from my skin. I heard my husband approach and turned, giving him my best attempt at smile. His proffered hand lifted me to my feet, then tucked a damp curl behind my ear.

“Ready to go home, mo nighean donn?”

Nodding, I leaned into him, needing his warmth. His arms came around me and I tipped my face up, my lips seeking his. He kissed me with a desire, a ferocity that beckoned back to our encounter just a few hours before.

“It’s what you wanted, aye? What you’ve always wanted?” His voice was lower than usual, thick with an emotion I couldn’t quite place. “To go home?”

“Yes,” I answered slowly as I studied his face, unsure where this was coming from.

Jamie’s eyes slid shut, his hands framing my face. He pressed his forehead against mine for a moment, then murmured, “Then lets go.”

…

“Is this the place?” he asked, hesitating just outside the circle of standing stones as he examined their positions carefully before entering.

“This is it.”

The buzz coming from the center stone was beginning to make me feel dizzy as it drew me into the windblown space between the stones. Jamie came to stand beside me as he finished his loop around the giant, cleft stone. “This one?”

“Yes,” I answered, shifting uneasily.

My heart beat erratically in my chest. It plummeted as I caught Jamie’s pale countenance out of the corner of my eye, then soared at the thought of seeing Frank again, of reuniting with the man I’d longed to be with for the last six months.

“What did ye do last time?”

“I didn’t really do anything,” I took a step forward and outstretched my hands. “There was this buzzing sound… and I just… touched the stone.”

The roar of the stones sucked me in, the walls of the world around me came crashing down in a sensation both familiar and completely foreign. It was the same sound, the same siren’s song that echoed in my ears, tugging me back to my own time… to Frank.

Suddenly, something - or someone - grabbed hold of me. A force latched onto me, jerking me into a blinding white light. I screwed my eyes shut as a pounding in my head took up residence and nausea threatened to pull my digestive organs up and out of my mouth all at once.

“Claire?”

Jamie’s voice was strangled, more frightened than I’d ever heard it. I tried to smile, to show him I was still breathing, but all I managed was a slight twitch of my lips.

“I’m alright,” I muttered.

“Are ye, then?” He pulled me up from my prostrate state, clasping me tight against his chest, “Oh, God, Claire, I thought ye were dead. Ye left… began to go somewhere… and ye had the most awful look on your face, like ye were frightened to death.”

“Claire, I’m sorry,” Jamie breathlessly apologized. My eyes were open now and I could see the shock and fear written all over his face, “I stopped ye, I shouldna have done so. I just… I wasna ready.”

Clarity slowly returned to me with each beat of my heart, my tunnel vision and focus expanding with every breath I took. The thundering in my ears lessened and the nausea faded away, leaving a lump in my throat as I realized I wasn’t ready either.

This is what I wanted, right? To go back home?

Suddenly, now that the opportunity was here, I wasn’t entirely sure.

“At least we know it still works,” I mumbled, finding words woefully inadequate.

Jamie nodded, his jaw twitching with tension as he wrestled with .

“Aye, it does,” he swallowed past a lump of his own and cast a glance of fearful loathing towards the center stone. “‘And now I must part wi’ ye… ‘tis what we’re here for, aye?” His face was pale as he brought the both of us to our feet, speaking aloud to himself as much as he was to me, “‘Tis your own time, the things ye ken, on the other side of tha’ stone. Ye’ve a home there, a place… and Frank.”

“Frank,” I echoed as his face swam before me as the blood rushed to my head, his eyes dark and smiling.

“There’s nothing for ye here, save violence and danger,” his fingers beat rapidly against his leg. “Nothing, Sassenach. Now go,” he insisted, taking a step backwards, “I’ll stay until nightfall, to see ye safe.”

I couldn’t look away as he walked to the edge of the stone circle, where he hesitated, swaying slightly before he turned and bid me, “Goodbye, Sassenach.”

I stood frozen, torn between following my heart or my head.

“Jamie.”

The word stopped him in his tracks as he moved to leave. He didn’t turn back to face me, his hands clenched into fists at his sides. His rigid stance held no sign of weakness, no lingering doubts over his actions… over his parting words to me.

Was there truly nothing here for me?

Here with the father of my children, a man I loved?

I bit back a sob and swallowed his rejection with the lump in my throat.

My voice shook as I whispered, “Goodbye.”


	9. To Build a Home

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Claire chooses to stay in the past and is reunited with Jamie.

October 20th, 1743.

The sun had set long before I made my decision, which made making my way back to the campsite a far more daunting task than I had anticipated. I nearly fell face first into the underbrush several times before I was able to force myself to slow down, but all my restraint fell by the wayside as I caught sight of his low burning fire. Jamie and Murtagh heard me coming long before I made it into the clearing, the both of them rising up from the ground to stand ready for whatever sort of foe may appear.

I launched myself in Jamie’s general direction, paying little heed to Murtagh’s Gaelic exclamations. I couldn’t care less about what he thought of my absence and reappearance, my attention focused on the man I never wanted to be parted from again. He caught hold of me around the waist and pulled me close, his heart beating erratically against my cheek.

“Take me home,” my lips trembled as I tipped my head back to look up at him. “Take me to Lallybroch.”

Jamie opened his mouth to speak, but I silenced him, bringing his lips down to mine. Words would come in time, but, just now, I needed an assurance that could not be spoken aloud. I needed to know that his parting words to me were uttered to give me the freedom to choose my future and not a reflection of his heart. I needed to feel him respond to my kiss as he always did: with a passion and desire unfettered by what tomorrow may bring.

My heart soared as he rid me of my every doubt. Jamie brought one hand to caress the swell of our children and I laced my fingers between his, wishing desperately to have the faith he had in their health. The hours of their stillness were taking a toll on my own well being, slowly draining me of hope. He nuzzled his nose in my hair while he pressed his hips against mine, assuring me, “They are well, mo nighean donn, even if they canna show us just yet.”

As if summoned by their father’s voice and touch, I felt an unmistakable stirring within me. My heart skipped a beat, then clattered on at breakneck speed. I held my breath as I quickly moved Jamie’s hand to the place. His eyes widened in surprise, then took on an incredible soft sort of glowing delight.

“Oh God, Claire.”

…

I stared into the dying embers of the campfire as I lay in Jamie’s arms, his warmth curled around me as he slept.

The babies hadn’t moved again, but, for now, I was content with their quiet slumber. I tried to remind myself that it was still early yet and their movements should sporadic, without a discernible pattern or prompting. Maybe it was because there were two of them, and therefore twice the amount of activity, that I could feel them as I did. Whatever the reason, I cherished every sign that proved my worries to be unfounded.

I’d never been so happy to be wrong in my entire life.

With a smile, I settled into a more comfortable position. Jamie moved with me and sighed in his sleep, completely content with our earthen mattress. I’d gotten used to sleeping on the ground by now, but it certainly wasn’t my first choice of sleeping arrangements.

Who are you fooling… if Jamie was there to warm you, you’d gladly sleep on a glacier, my brain teased.

I caught sight of Murtagh’s shadowy blob on the other side of the fire, his back towards us and the dying embers, calling to mind Jamie’s words to me of how his godfather had responded when he’d returned from Craigh na Dun without me.

Murtagh recognized this as being near the place where he’d rescued me from Black Jack Randall some six months before. He’d questioned Jamie as to why this was, that if I’d had a connection to the area, why I hadn’t mentioned it, only speaking of Oxfordshire and France. Jamie had been sure I was already in my own time, gone forever and to never return, and told him everything, sharing his heart and baring his soul to the one who knew it best. He’d been skeptical, God bless him, but he took Jamie at his word when he described watching me start to vanish before his very eyes. Few words had come from Murtagh, who was quiet on a talkative day, before he turned in for the night, leaving me wondering just what he thought of the whole ordeal.

I had it second hand from Jamie that Murtagh had believed his explanation, and I knew Jamie wouldn’t lie about it, but I had my doubts that his godfather, a skeptical Scot to his very core, actually believed that I’d supernaturally appeared that cold, spring day from two hundred years into the future.

…

“Sassenach?”

“Mmm?” I intoned, peeking out of one eye to look up at him. With the warm sun on my face, Jamie’s strong arms around me, and steady rhythm of the horse, I was having a hard time staying awake.

“Why did they call Donas a kelpie a’ the trial?”

“Because Laoghaire told the court that I was having his child,” I answered with a scowl.

We came to an abrupt halt as he all but shouted, “She what?”

“She claimed I had an affair with the Loch Ness monster and that I gave you a magical potion so that you’d fall in love with me in order for the child I’d conceived with the beast to be born human.”

Jamie stared down at me in silence as he tried to process what I just said. His brows were knit together in confusion for many moments before his face flamed bright red, the implication now clear. A stream of what I could only assume to be Gaelic profanity spat from lips and I closed my eyes again, seconding the sentiment, as he heeled the horse back into motion.

“I’ve heard that one before,” I mumbled. “What’s it mean… ifrinn?”

“Hell,” he translated as a matter of fact

“Well said.”


	10. Lallybroch

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Jamie and Claire have traveled to Lallybroch after the witch trial at Cranesmuir.

In which Odysseus returns home, disguised as a beggar.

I smiled at the memory of Jamie’s muttered Greek as I sat down on a wooden bench and I looked at my own bare feet, finding I fit the description perfectly.

Our arrival at Lallybroch had been far from triumphant, however heartfelt it had started out, and was something neither of us would have envisioned. We were both considerably worse for wear and bedraggled when we passed through the arched gateway, each showing the week of travel it had taken to get here. Jamie’s clothing at least resembled something a respectable person would wear, meanwhile I was dressed in his spare shirt with his plaid gathered about my shoulders and belted at my waist… or what was left of my waist.

The pack of dogs that had greeted us disbanded once Jamie and Jenny took their quarrel within, leaving me to find an uninhabited courtyard when I sought fresh air a few moments later. My morning sickness still came and when as it wished, but I’d found being out of doors helped, as much as anything could. Leaning my head back against the smooth stone of Lallybroch’s walls, I let the warm autumn sun slowly warm my face as I focused on taking deep, even breaths. I caught a whiff of the dovecote, which was unfortunately upwind of me, and lost what little control I had over my stomach.

A deep Scottish mmhmm of sympathy followed the sound of someone sitting next to me and made me wish I could crawl underneath the bench and hide.

What a way to meet your in-laws, Beauchamp, ralphing in their rose bushes.

Wiping my face on the hem of my skirt, I braced myself and sat upright, ready to face whomever had joined me. I found a decent looking chap about the same age as Jamie sitting next to me with a sort of grimace on his face and a gleam of amusement in his eye.

“Bairns have a way of doin’ that, aye?” He accurately stated, “Kickin’ ye when you’re down?”

I nodded, not quite capable of speech just yet. My hand instinctively went to the now very obvious swell just above my hips, reverently cradling the life within, as I fought another swell of nausea.

“My wife was ill with our first, but we’ve been blessed with a reprieve wi’ this one,” he continued, not minding my silence. “She mebbe wouldna tell ye so, what wi’ the bairn bein’ so close, but saints be praised just the same.”

He offered me the warmest of smiles and I couldn’t help trying to return it as I inquired, “Your wife is with child, then?”

Before he could answer, the wind changed and pushed a few barbed comments from within our way, most indistinguishable, but Jenny’s voice rang out clear for a brief moment.

“… and wi’ ye struttin’ home, proud as a peacock wi’ yer trollop! How dare ye suggest such a thing when ye ken the bairn she carries isna yours?!”

Jesus H Roosevelt Christ, would Laoghaire’s lies never end?

A smile of amusement tugged at my companion’s lips as he easily nodded towards the house, “Jamie’s home then… and I imagine ye’ll be…”

“The trollop,” I finished for him, “otherwise known as Claire Fraser.”

He laughed outright at this before introducing himself, “I’m Ian Murray, Jenny’s husband.”

“So, you’d heard of it then?”

“Oh, aye. Ye canna keep anything a secret long in the Highlands,” he looked back to the window where the argument had risen in severity. “Better give them a few minutes longer… Frasers canna listen to anythin’ when they’ve their dander up. When they’ve shouted themselves out, then ye can make them see reason, but no’ til then.”

“Yes, I’ve noticed,” I commented dryly.

Ian grinned unashamedly, “Ye’ve been married long enough to figure that out, eh?”

…

“Just how far along are ye, then?” Jenny inquired from behind the bed sheet she was pulling from the clothesline.

I stared blankly at the flowing, white linen, trying to figure out what day it was. “This is, what, the last week of October?”

“Well into the first week of November, lass,” my sister in law chuckled. “Today’s the fifth.”

“Then almost five months,” I sighed.

Her face appeared above the sheet, more than a little surprised, “Truly?”

“Our wedding was the fifteenth of June, so, yes that would be…” my chin rose as I quickly counted, “four months and twenty five days, to be exact.”

“Aye, I didna mean that dinna believe ye! Jamie cleared the air of the rumors we’ve heard of ye, to be sure.”

The ever present rock began to sink in the pit of my stomach. Just what exactly had they heard? What tales had been spun about my flight from the trial? Obviously, Laoghaire’s claim that the baby wasn’t Jamie’s had reached Lallybroch, but what else had?

“But,” Jenny’s voice nipped the budding questions before they could bloom into anxiety’s fragile flower, “tis only that ye look… closer than that.”

Another sigh left my lips, heavier this time, and I confessed to the first person outside of my husband, “The midwife at Leoch says its twins.”

“Twins?” She dropped the now folded sheet into the basket at her feet with a succinct plop as she muttered, “Mother, Michael, and Bride protect ye.”

My fingers found the jet beads amid the folds of fabric. I hadn’t taken it off since Jamie’s thrown them at me and I wasn’t sure when — or if — I ever would.

May they indeed.

…

The master bedroom had been hastily vacated for us, Jenny and Ian’s things moved from their places to a new room in short order, leaving Jamie and I alone to try to wrap our heads around the fact that we were really here.

Jamie loosened the belt about my waist and I sighed with contentment as he slid the plaid from my shoulders, pushing my skirt to the floor. He swept me up into his arms, his eyes hooded with a mixture of desire and fatigue. Slowly, he moved us towards the bed, lowering me down onto it and crawling in beside me. I sank gleefully into the feather mattress as the muscles my lower back and hips proclaimed their thanks.

“Welcome home, Lady Broch Turach,” he murmured, his voice low and sensual.

The lives within me jumped and tumbled with joy, expressing the same growing sense of relief that I felt.

“They know they’re home,” I pulled his hands to the place, catching my breath as they almost immediately stilled at his touch, as if in awe of their father’s presence. Squeezing his hand gently I urged, “Talk to them, they hear you.”

Jamie looked up at me, his mouth open in surprise, his eyes shining in the low light. He swallowed hard, “They can?”

“Yes,” I nodded, bringing my other hand to frame his face. “They know it’s you.”

He bent his head, his lips brushing against the almost translucent fabric of my shift. His hands traveled the curve of my belly, caressing and cradling his children.

“Oidhche mhath, mo bheannachdan.”

They moved again, pushing against his hand in an urgent manner that brought me to tears. My hand slid through the soft curls at the nape of Jamie’s neck as I cried tears of joy, of hope.

“Mo chridhe?”

Jamie brought his face close to mine, shifting so that he could take me into his arms. I clung to him and let my tears fall, even as I smiled through them.

“I love you,” I whispered, speaking the words aloud for the first time.

His gaze melted, his eyes brimming with an affectionate moisture of his own, “Ach, Claire… how I love ye.”


	11. Language of the Heart

Later that night, in bed; Master Bedroom, Lallybroch.

“There’s just so much that I don’t know,” I sighed, searching for a comfortable position with very little success.

”You could ask Jenny,” Jamie patiently offered as I squirmed beside him, “she bein’ a mother twice over, an’ all.”

With another exasperated sigh and an uncoordinated roll, I turned and gripped his arm, frustration and discomfort pouring from me as I burst, “But I don’t even know what to ask her! Where do I start?”

“A’ the beginning, aye?” he grinned.

A swift kick to the shin had him laughing outright — the opposite of what I needed from him just now — and I could feel the waterworks begin.

“I know the beginning!” I fumed, great, angry tears rolling down my cheeks. “I know how to bloody conceive a baby, but what I don’t know, James Fraser, is how to deliver and raise one!” My throat constricted as my words tumbled out, unchecked, “I mean, I know the basics of labor and delivery and how to assist the mother, but I don’t know how to be the mother!”

The laughter in Jamie’s eyes softened into a compassionate glow as he wiped my chin, catching the offending drips before they landed on his bare skin. His touch slowed and stemmed my tears, calming me as he dried my tears.

“What you dinna ken, you’ll learn, mo nighean donn,” he assured, brushing a gentle kiss along my hairline. I let out a hiccuping sigh and another kiss landed amid my curls as he added, “An’ the lads will tell you wha’ they need, no doubt.”

“They’re boys, then, mmm?” I sniffed, smiling in spite of myself as I shifted, trying to be closer to him.

“Oh, aye, Brian an’ Alexander.”

My eyes slid shut as his hand moved to caress the curve of my womb, my soul easing deeper into a contented bliss.

“What about Henry?” I inquired lazily.

I felt him nod, his chin nudging the top of my head, “For your father, aye? ‘Tis a good name, to be sure.”

Brian and Henry.

I liked the sound of that, and told him so.

“But what if we’ve one of each,” I suggested, “or girls?”

They were always boys in my dreams, but contingency plans were never a bad idea, in my opinion.

“Mmmm,” Jamie intoned, the vibrations of his voice doing wonders for my frazzled nerves. “Bonnie as their mam, with a head full o’ your curls.”

“Or your curls,” I grinned against him.

He chuckled, seeing the humor in professing their possible curls to be mine when he had an unruly mop of his own.

“I suppose, but I’ve only thought of them as lads, Sassenach,” Jamie admitted. “I havena given much thought to names for a lass.”

I hadn’t either, but I knew of one combination that I loved and was sure that he would too. My lips hovered over his collarbone as I murmured, “Ellen Elizabeth.”

“Ellen Elizabeth,” he repeated, then sighed with delight, “tis a verra fine name indeed.”

A thought came to mind and it made me frown. Noticing this, Jamie prompted, “Say it, Sassenach, or neither of us will sleep tonight.”

“Would you mind? If they’re girls, I mean.”

A noise escaped his lips, a sound from the very depths of him that couldn’t be held back. His arms tightened around me as he stiffened, the change immediate and almost startling.

“Jamie?”

“Nae,” his voice was heavy, weighed down by deep emotion, “I wouldna mind.”

“I dinna care whether you give me two sons, or two daughters, or a daughter and a son, Claire. All I want is to have the three o’ you always a’ my side, alive and healthy. Everythin’ else doesna matter.”

Jamie swallowed hard, his words barely above a whisper.

“I can bear my own pain, but I’m no’ sure how I will yours… when your time comes.”

“It won’t matter, you know,” I brought my mouth to his, kissing him with a delicate urgency, “once they are here. It will be worth it.”

He shook his head, pulling his lips from mine, “But knowing that I am the cause of your pain… I dinna ken… I dinna ken how I am to bear it.”

I brought my hands up to frame his face, my thumb tracing the line of his cheekbone and he pressed a kiss into my palm. Our tears of worry, anticipation, and concern mingled as I pulled his head closer to mine. He kissed me then, the embrace filling us both with a warmth and strength we could never find on our own.

…

Two days later.

My entire body ached — my feet, my back, my hip, everything — but the tennant’s rent had been collected and I’d been properly introduced to all of Lallybroch and then some, it seemed. There’d been so many names, so many faces and yet Jamie knew them all by heart. They’d been so wonderful, bringing posies and little trinkets for us, and Jamie’s face had beamed with pride as he welcomed each one.

I’d slipped away, retiring to our bedchamber as soon as it seemed appropriate, when only a few of the men remained congregated somewhere with Jamie and Ian, and all of the women and children had gone home. The new bodice and skirt Mrs Crook had made me for the occasion fit like a dream, but it was still heaven to discard it for the freedom of my shift. The master bed had welcomed me with joyous silence, enveloping me as I sought and found a comfortable position…

That was until the door opened and gave entrance to none other than the laird himself.

“Sassenach?”

Jamie’s speech was slurred, falling into a register he rarely used, with a lilt that was both endearing and irritating all at once.

He was drunk.

“Hmm?”

I didn’t turn my head to look at him — the position I was in too comfortable to forfeit just yet — but I still found a considerable amount of humor in the situation without seeing him.

“Dalhousie.”

I snorted, “Come again?”

“I thought of a name for the bairn,” the bed shook as he sat down heavily upon it. “We should name th’lad Dalhousie.”

“We are not naming either one of them Dalhousie,” I responded definitively.

He easily agreed as one boot fell to the floor, then the other, “Oh, aye, no’ if he’s no’ a lad.”

“How considerate of you,” I muttered as he moved closer, the stench of alcohol on him was enough to set my stomach rolling. “You smell, James Fraser.”

“Th’isna verra kind, Sassenach.”

He actually sounded crestfallen at my pronouncement and I couldn’t help but peek over my shoulder at him. He was pouting, for goodness sake! The look was complete with protruding lower lip and I couldn’t help but laugh.

“Wha’so funny?”

“You are!”

He grinned, his affrontment gone, and flopped down beside me, “I ken a wee joke.”

“Do you, now?” I groaned as my space was invaded and all sense of comfort evaporated.

“Mmhmm,” Jamie intoned and leaned against me, placing his chin on my hip like a dog before a fire, completely at ease.

I rolled my eyes and elbowed him to move, trying to rearrange my pillows again. He didn’t so much as budge, but instead sighed and draped one arm over me, his hand absently patting my breast.

Not entirely minding, I inquired, “What are you doing?”

“Tellin’ a joke.”

“And it involves fondling me?”

“Oh, aye,” his face took on an almost comical expression of intent sincerity, “I’m verra fond of ye, mo nighean donn.”

I laughed out right at this and he grinned sheepishly down at me, not understanding why I found this to be so funny.

“I’m verra fond of you too,” I patted his cheek reassuringly, “even when you’re drunk.”

Jamie immediately scowled, protesting, “I’m no’ drunk!”

“Mmm,” I raised a brow.

He seemed to ponder this a moment before adding, “Well, mebbe a wee bit drunk.”

With this admittance, he cozied himself down beside me and became rather quiet. His hands were still moving — or stroking, to be more accurate — so I knew he hadn’t fallen asleep, but I found myself becoming more and more awake and aroused by the moment.

“Tell me your joke,” I urged, needing him to make good on his ministrations and not succumb to an intoxicated slumber. He started to giggle — for a childish noise of delight he, indeed, was making — and I poked him, “Are you going to share? Or keep it to yourself?”

“Tisna polite t’speak o’sitch things, Sassenach.”

This gave me a rather good idea of the sort of joke it was… one probably told to him by a tenant while they caroused around the fire.

“You’re in bed with your pregnant wife,” I chuckled. “I don’t think there’s much you can joke about that we haven’t done or would insult my delicate sensibilities, James Fraser.”

The last bit was said in complete jest, but I’d felt very much out of place amid the gathering of womenfolk this afternoon. My pregnancy had been the only bridge I had with the mothers and grandmothers of Jamie’s inheritance. My hand slid under the curve of my distended abdomen, cradling the lives that hid beneath my heart, thankful for their presence and the way they brought me closer to Jenny and the residents of Lallybroch.

“Aye, ye’re sensible to a fault, Sassenach,” he grinned, then bent his head, his hand overlapping mine. “An’ delicate as the mother hen tha’ ye are.”

I snorted, ”More like a mother cow… or a horse, perhaps.”

Jamie looked up at me, his gaze intense.

“Ye feel big, aye?”

“Yes,” I murmured, feeling incredibly insecure under his gaze, “and I know I’ll only get bigger.”

He shifted and moved closer to my head, his hand cupping my cheek, his voice barely audible, “Do ye no’ ken how bonnie ye are to me? How ye shine more an’ more wi’ every day they grow within ye?”

“Mebbe I havena told ye enough just how proud I am… the delight I take a’ the sight of my bairns within’ ye,” one hand dipped to my breast, lifting it reverently. “I love every bit of ye, Claire, and the fuller ye get… the more my bairns need ye… the more ye change before my verra eyes… the more I find I love ye.”

“Dinna ever doubt, mo chridhe,” his lips brushed against mine, “that I find ye beautiful.”

My eyes slid shut, his nearness making me dizzy.

“You’re drunk,” I murmured aloud, my insecurities trying to convince me that he didn’t really — truly — mean what he was saying. I felt him hover above me, pausing in his delicate appreciation. I opened my eyes to find concern in his before the corners of his mouth turned up in a wry smile.

“Christ, Sassenach,” he swore, his nose knocking into mine as he clumsily tried to kiss me and speak at the same time, “the drink doesna make a liar o’me… jus’ loosens m’tongue a wee bit.”

The drink, as he called it, had indeed loosened his tongue, for he began to nibble, to taste every inch of my skin from neck to navel, his head bent and his mouth determined. His hands pressed against my hips and pushed me deeper into the downy mattress, his words flowing out from a hidden depth he had only just begun to show me, here in the master bedroom.

“When I saw ye… tha’ first time, ye ken? Drippin’ wet wi’ yer frock plastered against yer skin… An’ then when tha’ round arse o’yers was wedged between m’thighs,” he moaned, firmly grasping the item of anatomy in question, “Tha’s when I kenned… for sure an’ for certain tha’ ye were mine.”

“But I wasn’t,” I half teased, half coaxed and playfully resisted as he tried to nudge my knees apart. “Not yet, anyway.”

A low rumble emanated from him as his hands ran up my sides, skimming over my ribs and coming to rest under my tender breasts. He gently cupped them, taking great care as his thumbs circled my nipples, making them stand on end. Involuntarily, I arched upwards against him, seeking more. He pressed his cheek against my belly as his eyes slid halfway shut with and a silly little grin played on his lips.

“Nae,” he murmured, “no’ yet.”

“Then ye cared for me… tended to the folk a’ Leoch wi’ such a manner tha’ I… I thought mebbe ye were one o’the wee folk as they said ye were, for ye’d surely enchanted my heart, to be sure.”

He moved to hover over me on his hands and knees. His hips were low and he brushed against me as he whispered in my ear.

“An’ then ye rode wi’ us… out on th’moors an’ the heather an’ in the mud,” his lips brushed against my neck, “Dougal didna give us the choice then, Sassenach, but… I choose ye now… an’ every moment since.”

His fingers found the ring on my right hand and reverently traced its engravings, “Then a’ Leoch, when ye told me… ye told me of the bairns… Christ, I didna ken whether to crow wi’ pride or cower wi’ my fear for ye.”

“You thought I was dying,” I remembered.

“How could I no’?” He burst. “Ye couldna keep down a bannock to save yer soul an‘ avoided me like the plague I thought ye had!”

“I didn’t avoid you!”

Jamie rolled over, flopping onto his back with an exaggerated sigh, “Aye, ye did. Kept yerself holed up in tha’ surgery of yers an’ wouldna even come out for meals… no’ that I blame ye, for ye’d only retch up ‘gain.”

I turned to face him — which took no small amount of effort on my part— and placed a hand on his chest. My fingers brushed against the ridge of his collarbone as my lips murmured against his skin, “Forgive me?”

He turned to face me as well, a smile on his lips as his arms pulled me closer.

“There’s nothin’ to forgive, but, aye, I do… an’ I always will.”

He kissed me with an urgency and need that matched my own. We’d both fallen into bed utterly exhausted each night for over a week, leaving us both in want of the other’s touch, but now I suddenly found myself hesitant for reasons I could not define. I clung to him in my need, yet somehow shied away from at the same time.

“Ach, mo chridhe,” Jamie’s hands lifted to frame my face, moving his head so that the end of his nose brushed against mine. “Tha gaol agam ort.”

I love you.

My Gaelic was rudimentary at best, but I’d come to know this phrase, one Jamie uttered with a most sincere reverence, and it was always my undoing. His hands skimmed down my neck, over the ridge of my collarbones until they cupped the outside of my breasts. Our lips were almost imperceptibly apart as we breathed together on the precipice I feared but could no longer deny.

“May I show you?”

Even when drunk, he was a gentleman. I was his wife — in his bed — and his peers would find no fault in him having his way with me… but not Jamie. My desires were his. My body was not a thing to be trifled with, but something sacred.

I nodded, sliding my eyes shut to stem my tears of self doubt.

“Look a’ me, Claire.”

This wasn’t a command, his tone was as delicate as it was urgent, but I found that I was doing just as he’d asked in spite of myself. The fathomless blue depths of his eyes gazed right into my very soul and left me completely bare, my every insecurity and doubt and fear there on display for him to see.

“I love you… every bit of you.”

I tried to smile, but knew I wasn’t overly successful.

“I love you too,” I whispered back.

Jamie nodded, accepting my words, but did not dwell on them. Instead, his hands began to caress me as he held my gaze, his face becoming a map of desire as he charted every curve, every plane of my body. He gently rolled me onto my back again and began to massage my hips, his thumbs working at the muscles and tendons that, until recently, had enjoyed a rather sedentary role in my everyday life. He knew just where to be firm and where to tread lightly, treating my left hip with the utmost care that it required after being injured in the Thieve’s Hole.

It soon became clear that his ministrations were of an entirely different nature than mere massage and his face took on a look that had me quivering in delight beneath him.

“Just there, aye?”

“Yes,” I gasped as his nimble fingers began to tease me.

I moved against his hand, my back arching as he gently laughed, “Easy, Sassenach. We’ve all night.”

I moaned as he continued his work, “God, now, Jamie.”

“No’ just yet,” he crooned, the low resonance of his voice sent tremulous shockwaves down my spine. “I want to take my time with ye.”

I couldn’t breathe as the blood roared in my ears, the reverberations of my arousal threatened to tip me over the edge and into oblivion. He began to move away, but I grabbed hold of him by the scruff of his neck and pulled him back. Jamie grinned at me in that infuriating way of his and I groaned in frustration.

He knew, damn him.

He knew how close I was and just on the verge was exactly where he wanted me to be. Even in his drunken state, my husband knew my body almost better than I did myself and he was currently building me up to such a soaring height that I was quite sure I would never recover from it.

I let go of him with a huff, but he held on to me and in one fluid movement, he somehow had me sitting astride him, leaving me to blink rapidly down at him in astonishment. I rocked forward on my knees and bent to kiss him, rubbing the tip of my nose against his.

“Better?” he mumbled around my lips as he adjusted himself beneath me and brought the two of us together at last. There was no need to answer him and I wasn’t sure I was capable of coherent speech just then — had I wanted to — but that didn’t stop me letting my pleasure be known. Jamie quickly responded in kind, catching up to my state of near depravity and I knew neither of us would be much longer as he moaned, “Christ, Claire.”

We collapsed together, tangled up in bed sheets and each other’s limbs, as our bodies slowly regained equilibrium. The lives within me had a good deal to say about our activities and made their opinions known. I watched Jamie’s face he felt them move about, his eyes alight with wonder.

“If I gave you a diagram, could you carve me something out of wood?” I asked lazily, tracing the swirl of his ear with my fingertip.

Jamie’s brows furrowed a bit, confused at the abrupt change of topics, “What?”

“There’s a medical instrument in my time, something called a pinard horn,” I grinned. “It lets you listen to fetal heartbeats and I think we could make one.”

The awe was back, a complete amazement at the prospect.

“We… could hear them?”

“Well, you could,” I commented, my fingers moved through his hair to the nape of his neck, twisting in and out of the curls there. “I don’t think I can bend that way.”

“How?”

“The horn is cylindrical and magnifies the sound enough for our ears to hear it.”

Jamie’s jaw dropped and he pressed his ear to my belly, inquiring earnestly, “An’ then you can hear wha’ they’re sayin’?”

I laughed, making him grin up at me, “No, silly. You’d hear they’re hearts, not their voices.”

“Isna tha’ the same thing?” He wondered aloud, “I mean, you talk to them tha’ way, aye? Wha’ do you think they’re sayin’?”

“I’m here,” I murmured, giving words to the rhythm of my heart. “All is well.”

…

“Mmmmfh,” I blindly flung my hand over to Jamie’s side of the bed. “Where are you?”

“Here, Sassenach.”

He sounded a good distance away from me and I raised my head to investigate, cracking one eye open as I groaned, “Come back to bed.”

Jamie grinned and shook his head and I gave up my attempt at wakefulness. I let my head flop back down onto the pillow, feeling drowsier than a drunken bear. Come to think of drunkenness, it seemed that of the two of us, I was the one to have the hangover this morn… which was entirely unfair. The bed shifted slightly beneath me as he sat down beside me, giving me an opportunity to grumble.

“How is it that you got drunker than a skunk last night and I’m the one who can’t get out of bed?”

He bent over me with a chuckle and kissed my temple, tucking the covers more securely around me, “I dinna ken what a skunk is — or has to do with it, for that matter — but I’d say tis because I’m no’ five months gone wi’ twins.”

“It’s a foul smelling animal who can’t hold its liquor,” I teased as I brought my hands to his face, keeping him near.

“Must no’ be a Scottish beast, then.”

“North American,” I informed him, nudging his nose with mine. “Come back to bed”

Jamie smiled around my lips as he kissed me, “I have my boots on.”

“Then take them off again.”

“Ach, mo chridhe, I canna,” he eased away from me reluctantly. “But we have a lifetime of mornings ahead, aye?”

My eyes slid shut with a smile as he rose from beside me, my hand slipping from his as I burrowed deeper under the thick, downy covers.

A lifetime of mornings.

I liked the sound of that.

…

I hadn’t intended to sleep the day away, but it seemed I had. The sun had risen significantly since Jamie had bid me good morning and I turned from the mirror with a sigh, wondering how on earth Jenny managed to do it all… and she was a good deal further along than I was, with a toddler to boot.

“Those two run on a fuel entirely different than the rest of us,” I muttered to myself, thinking of my husband and sister-in-law.

Opening the door, I stepped out onto the landing. I expected to hear the usual hubbub of daily life here at Lallybroch, but was met with silence instead. I felt a growing sense of unease settle into the pit of my stomach as I reached for the balustrade and peered over it into the room below. At my movement, the small cluster of men gathered there looked up in unison, but it was Jamie’s face that caught my attention…

That, and the pistol pointed at his head.


	12. Hard Labor

The next day; Lallybroch

“That money was for you, Claire… for the bairns, for our life here together.” The muscles of Jamie’s jaw clenched as he chewed over the price for Horrock’s silence and swallowed hard, trying to regain his composure, “I wanted to fill the halls with the sound of their laughter, pass on the legacy that my father built for them, hand down the good Fraser name… but now?”

A small sound left him. It was neither a sob nor a shout, but rather a cry of his heart. The timber of it reached out and clenched my own heart in an icy grip, the following words barely above a whisper.

“We should have never have come home.”

“Don’t say that,” my fingers dug into his back as I held him close, my cheek pressing tightly against his chest. “Whatever happens, we’ll handle it. No matter the cost.”

“That’s the thing, is it no’?”

Jamie’s palm cradled the back of my head, his thumb working slow, steady circles just behind my ear as he continued, his voice cracking as he spoke.

“The money willna be the end of it, mo chridhe, I ken it. What will it be, the cost of my freedom and your safety?”

I lifted my head and his hands moved to frame my face, his eyes dark with apprehension. I gazed deeply into them, giving him my own strength of surety.

“Whatever it is… whatever it takes to keep us together,” I vowed easily, “I will give it.”

He kissed me then, his body echoing my promise with one of his own. A sharp kick from within made me catch my breath and Jamie smiled as his hands moved to the swell between us.

“I shouldna keep you from Jenny,” he murmured.

I nodded, but didn’t move away, needing his touch more than his sister needed me at present. She was in the capable hands of the midwife and I was merely there to support and observe. I found myself growing more and more on edge with every moment I spent in that birthing room and welcomed any excuse to leave for a few moments… allowing myself to catch a breath or two of fresh air. My fears for when my own time came fed on the thick fog of tension that hung heavy around Jenny and Mrs Martin, restricting my oxygen intake and effectively smothering me.

“Talk to her, mo nighean donn,” he encouraged, patting me almost patronizingly. “Or ask Mrs Martins your questions… dinna let them eat at you.”

I’d been doing plenty of the latter in the last week and my observant husband knew that this uncharted medical territory was causing a good bit of unease for me. I was abundantly thankful that the seasoned midwife had been able to come to Jenny’s aid as I was completely unready to deliver my niece or nephew on my own, though I’d witnessed a birth or two in my scant and hurried nurse’s training.

“They’ll be here in our room helping you soon enough, aye?”

The same realization had come to me when Jamie left to retrieve the midwife this morning and it’d grown from a fleeting thought into a constant, gut churning awareness in the five hours since. Swallowing hard, I reminded him, “Not for a while yet… we’ve a long winter ahead of us.”

His hands slid along my hips, pressing me against him as he bent his head. He kissed the small hollow just behind my ear, his breath on my skin as warm as his words.

“That we have,” his voice dipped low and I felt him smile, “but I’ll keep you warm, Sassenach.”

…

Haste ye back.

Sitting on the edge of Ian and Jenny’s bed, I watched as my sister-in-law fought her way through another contraction, my heart echoing the command I’d given Jamie before he left. I was thankful that I had something to occupy my time while he was gone, but, in truth, watching Jenny labor was doing nothing to calm me and everything to feed the growing unease within my spirit.

The lives within me moved in correlation with the churning of my gut, as if they were wrestling with my emotions themselves. I worked at taking deep breaths, breathing in through my nose and out through my mouth, but this only spurred them into greater action. Giving this up, I let my mind wander to how the midwife had assessed Jenny’s baby’s position, how she could identify limb from rump from head, and I tried to imagine what positions mine were in.

Were they nestled close, their little heads touching in their uterine embrace?

They hadn’t room to be anything but close, I ruefully corrected myself as I pressed my hand to the spot where a sharp foot connected with my ribs, trying to encourage the baby to lose its footing. One was currently head down, then. They switched often enough that I knew this had no bearing on their readiness to leave the womb, but rather a position they found comfortable at this moment.

The baby Jenny carried was not head down, as he or she should be, and the midwife had tried a good number of things to get the obstinate Fraser to move. I could tell from Mrs Martins’ expression that she had one more trick up her sleeve, most likely a more forceful way to reposition the baby, but was hesitant to do so unless it was absolutely necessary. Having just tried a new position and hopeful of its success, Jenny stood beside me, her face gradually resuming its normal color as the contraction eased.

“What is it like?” I blurted when the midwife stepped away for a moment.

Jenny and loosened her grip on the bed’s corner post, “Well, ‘tis no romp in the heather, can ye no’ see my face?”

“No, I know that, but what does it feel like?”

She turned to look at me and must have caught my hand nervously caressing my own distended abdomen, for the annoyance left her eyes and she gave my question some thought. Her gaze seemed to focus on something far afield, outside the room as she tried to find words to describe the battle raging within her.

“Ye ken that sort of… cramping ye get when ye’ve your courses? It starts off like that,” she commented, stopping and starting again as the words came to her. “Ye arena sure if tis more of the same… have ye no’ had the wee pains, then?”

Braxton Hicks contractions.

“A few times,” I acknowledged the muscular inconvenience I’d felt now and then of late.

Jenny nodded, “Tis a bit different than tha’… They pick up a pattern o’ their own, for one thing… an’ ye’re in the privy more an’ more… until ye fear the bottom half o’ ye will come off wi’ the strength of ‘em.”

She pulled a face and I got the impression that she was at this stage just about now.

“Then ye’re fightin’ with everythin’ ye have… an’ suddenly ‘tis over an’ the bairn is here,” she shrugged noncommittally.

I swallowed hard against the bile rising in my throat and felt very much as if I were going to be sick as I lamely murmured, “Oh.”

Jenny reached out her hand to me with a wry smile and I stood. Taking it readily, I nestled it safely in the crook of my arm as we set off for another turn around the room.

“Ye willna mind all of this,” she inclined her head in the general direction of the midwife, “once they’re in your arms, ye ken. I dinna ken how ‘tis possible, but ‘tis true, lass.”

…

Two Days Later.

The chill of Lallybroch’s front stoop was seeping into my skirts, but ignored it and turned my face towards the sun, basking in its warmth. My eyes slid shut as the weight of the baby in my arms comforted me, her quiet cooing doing wonders to my anxious spirit. The little squeaks and sighs she made as her cheek pressed against my chest smoothed over every raised alarm and jagged nerve.

My palm cupped the curve of the back of her head as I held her tiny frame close, breathing in the sweet scent of her. The fluff of her dark hair tickled my chin, making me smile as I cracked one eye open to peer down at her. She wrinkled her nose at me and yawned lazily. Her rather dignified sigh pushed away the cobwebs of worry around my heart, clearing my head as I imagined what Maggie’s close-in-age cousins would look like.

Up until I’d become pregnant myself, I’d held the opinion that most infants looked remarkably like Winston Churchill… their grumpy, wrinkled faces resembling neither their father nor their mother in my eyes, but something of an old man. I still found infants rather homely, but now they were endearingly so… a face only a mother could love and I, an expectant mother, delighted in their quickly changing features.

Maggie looked like any other baby, I surmised, with her button nose and rosebud lips, but I marveled at the realization that the arch of her cheekbones and the set of her eyes were very near to those of her mother and her maternal uncle. She had murky, bluish brown eyes at the moment. Jenny informed me that they would most likely change color as she grew, and I wondered if they’d become Fraser blue or echo Ian’s deeper hue.

My head snapped up as the sound of approaching hoofbeats broke into my revere and I was on my feet in a moment, something that rather surprised me at this stage in my pregnancy. I fixed my eyes on the arched entryway that led into Lallybroch’s courtyard, holding my breath as I willed the rider to be Jamie, not some unknown traveler or village person. Time seemed to stand still, all the chickens pausing in their search for food to turn and look with me. Even the dogs were silent, holding onto their judgment of the visitor until they came into sight.

A rather scruffy looking man appeared first, breaking the spell and setting everything into motion. He waved away the small pack of dogs as he lead an unfamiliar horse behind him with an even more worse for wear, yet recognizable, rider swaying precariously in the saddle.

The rider was not my husband… it was Ian.


	13. The Search

Mid November, 1743; Lallybroch.

“What are ye doin’, lass?”

Murtagh’s voice held more concern than consternation as he made his way towards me in the dim stable. I didn’t — couldn’t — look at him as I hoisted the saddle blanket onto the mare’s back, knowing that if I did, if I saw the fear he was trying to hide in his eyes, I would cry… or worse, lose my resolve.

“What does it look like?” I huffed as I turned my attention to the heavy saddle, “I’m coming with you.”

He was at my side before I managed to get it anywhere near the horse. A guttural Gaelic expletive left his lips and I forfeited the heavy tack to him, but made no move to surrender my position near the mare’s flank. I crossed my arms against chest, my gaze withering as he set down the saddle and turned to back me.

“Ye’ll no’ be riding with me,” he insisted with a dismissive shake of his head.

I knew better than to ask him why not, for there were a thousand and one reasons for me to stay behind while he forged ahead. I’d thought of each and every one, every horrible scenario playing out in my mind since he’d arrived with battered Ian in tow and still came to the same conclusion.

I was going to find my husband… with or without Murtagh’s approval.

My chest heaved as I stared him down. He met my gaze without so much as a twitch, but the crack and timbre of his voice betrayed his true feelings.

“Ye’ll stay here… where Jenny can tend to ye, where ye are safe,” his shoulders hunched with huge weight of the situation, his breathing labored as he tried to talk me down. “Wha’ happens to the bairns if ye fall, lass? ‘Tis a long way down and no guarantee of a bush or heather to land on.”

“I won’t fall.”

He snorted, “And if ye do?”

“I’ve fallen a good deal farther and they’re still here,” I grimly stated and shivered slightly, for the chilling nightmare I’d had while within the depths of the Thieves Hole had become a frequent visitor in the weeks since my imprisonment, each repetition more frightening than the last.

My comment tore down Murtagh’s mask of resolute strength and his hands shot out, gripping my upper arms as moisture sprang to his eyes, “I canna risk it, a nighean. Please… will ye no’ stay here?”

I shook my head, opening my mouth to protest, but he cut me off.

“I give you my word, Claire,” he vowed, desperate for me to stay behind. “I will find him and bring him back to you.”

“I don’t doubt it for a moment, but in what condition?” I spat, even as my voice cracked. “They flogged Jamie within an inch of his life the last time you broke him out of prison and I can’t imagine they’ll do anything less to him this time!”

The image of a hangman’s noose around my husband’s neck knocked the air from my lungs and I felt very much like I was going to be sick. My head spun as I lifted my hands to my face. A shudder ran through me in a desperate attempt rid myself of the sudden vision of Jamie swinging from the scaffold at Fort William. I felt my legs give way beneath me and my crippling fears swallowed me whole as the floodgates opened, a sob bursting forth from my lips unchecked.

Murtagh caught me just before I hit the ground, pulling me to him in an awkward embrace as my tears flowed freely. I’d been bolstered by Jenny’s strength and carried by my own stubborn determination, but the quiet darkness of the stable had been my undoing. I knew that, on their own, my tears would solve nothing… but I also knew that I wouldn’t solve anything if I didn’t allow myself to cry… here in the stillness, protected by the arms of the man my husband trusted above all others.

Working together, we could – and would – save Jamie.

We had to.

..  
Two weeks later; Somewhere in the Highlands.

“Thank ye, Mistress,” the young boy nodded to me, going so far as to bend forward from the waist in a slight bow.

While I understood their appreciation, the almost reverence the village folk gave in the last few hamlets we’d traveled through was beginning to grow wearisome. I hadn’t even treated the lad’s wound yet and here he was acting as though I’d cured him of leprosy with a touch of my hand. Most of this was Murtaugh’s doing, I knew, and yet if it meant word spread more quickly or even made me more identifiable to Jamie, I would go along with the harmless charade.

Placebo pebbles, I’d mentally dubbed them when Murtagh explained his idea at the start of our journey. Highlanders were equal parts superstitious and religious and Murtaugh’s plan was to capitalize on both. He told me of a folkloric woman, a sort of witch who was able to see the motivations of men and women alike, who could strike an evil-doer down with a single look. He thought he could use the structure of La Dame Blanche, as she was called, to create a Holy Mother-like figure who could see the future and give protection or healing with the aid of a stone. The rumors of a pregnant Sassenach wandering about the countryside telling fortunes and healing the sick using magic rocks was sure to make it to Jamie, wherever he was hiding. I only hoped he’d hear of us before they tried me for witchcraft a second time or even for heresy.

I offered the boy my best attempt at a smile, gesturing him to come closer as I placed the small pouch of stones into a more visible part of my work space.

“Does it hurt much?” I nodded to the bandage on his right hand.

“Och, nae,” he bluffed as he extended it to me. “Jus’ it gets in the way a wee bit, now an’ then.”

I carefully unwrapped it and noticed a little girl standing near a tree about fifty yards from us. She had her eyes trained on the boy, yet made no move to come any closer as I examined him. The two shared similar cheekbone structures, a smattering of freckles, and glittering brown eyes. 

“Your sister?” I inclined my head, trying to distract him as the last layer of his bandage slowly peeled away. He nodded bravely, but I caught the wince he tried to hide as he averted his gaze to where she stood.

“What’s her name?”

“Flora, Mistress.” His voice changed, rising in timbre as his discomfort grew and I began to examine what revealed to be a minor burn.

It had already begun to heal and was relatively clean, needing only minimal cleaning before my application of a basic salve and a fresh bandage, but I took my time with him. For once, there wasn’t a flock of people hovering about my skirts waiting to be treated, and I made the effort to do the extra things Murtagh had suggested.

Use just enough Gaidhlig to make them think ye have it.

Give them every reason to believe ye can do a great deal more than what yer doin’… an’ tha’ the wee stones will do the rest o’ the healin’ for ye.

I kept my eyes on my work, but watched the boy out the corner of my eye as I began to slip in the phrases I’d been carefully taught, “And yours, a bhalaich?”

His head lifted in surprise to look at me, eyes wide with reverent awe and answered softly, “Michael.”

I nodded and reached for my medicine box, taking out the vial of salve I needed and a roll of fresh bandage. I set both down beside the small, leather pouch of stones before I looked at him again and found him unabashedly staring at me. My cheeks warmed, but I didn’t shirk from his gaze as I began to clean the wound.

Michael flinched as I cleared a bit of debris and dropped his eyes, staring the items table. I could see his mind working, but he didn’t speak. The cogs and wheels of his brain turned over each one until he came to the leather pouch. His mouth dropped open in excitement, then shut just as quickly as he tried to contain himself. He shifted from foot to foot uneasily and I knew this was the very result Murtagh had hoped for.

Jesus H Roosevelt Christ, here we go again.

“Would you like one, Michael?” I coaxed.

Murtagh would chuffed to know that I hadn’t needed to explain the purpose of the stones with this patient. The rumors had reached this village far ahead of us and done the work for me.

My patient’s brows drew together in concern, “I dinna have anything to give ye… and ye’ve already mended my arm. I canna ask for a wee stone besides.”

“Then a gift for your sister, perhaps?”

Michael’s smile threatened to stretch right off his face as he nodded, turning to beckon the child to his side. I caught the little girl’s nervous glance between her brother and I and smiled at her in encouragement. With a final look to Michael, she stepped out from behind the tree and ran to his side, burying her face in the back of his green coat.

“Hallo, a nighean,” I murmured and finished off applying the salve, wiping my hands on my apron.

The little girl’s arms wrapped around her brother’s waist and held on for dear life. He coaxed her in Gaelic, resulting in her peering around him, but not budging so much as an inch. Michael’s tone changed and she reluctantly let go, sidestepping to reveal a dirty blue dress and smudged face. My heart melted as she grabbed for her brother’s free hand, anchoring herself to him as she tried to decide if I was friend or foe.

I reached for the pouch and loosened the drawstring. Not looking at Flora as she studied me, I, in turn, examined its contents and made a great show of selecting which one I wanted to give her. I did have quite a few options thanks to a good deal of forethought, but it really made no matter which I chose, for they were all plain, benign, everyday rocks.

I eventually selected a small, white pebble that was near the top as I tried to focus on the task before me, but — as if the brother and sister’s presence called out in greeting to them — the lives within me stirred. They turned and prodded until I, in turn, had to move to appease them. I shifted uncomfortably on my hard, wooden seat and tried to nudge one, encouraging them to remove their heel from between my ribs.

Would they be brother and sister like these cherubs? Would I have a daughter and a son? One to favor me and the other Jamie?

A small, warm hand gently covered mine and I looked up in surprise to see Flora lean in towards me, a quiet lullaby tumbling from her lips. I couldn’t understand the words, but I didn’t need to. Her soft melody possessed an almost hypnotic charm, an intonation of the purest intent, a blessing from one child’s heart to another. The baby moved their foot and the both of them stilled, as if they could hear her song and were listening intently.

I held my breath as she finished, giving my hand a pat with her final, sustained note. My throat constricted as her wide, innocent eyes met mine and she gave me a shy smile. Tears burned at the back of my eyes as I gave her one in return, lifting my right hand to cup her face. I tucked a tangled strand of hair behind her ear and her smile grew, making her brown eyes dance.

“May our Heavenly Father keep you safe, my child.”

This time I truly meant the phrase Murtaugh had taught me, though I’d uttered them to nearly every patient I had treated, and my spirit echoed it, petitioning for the both of them to be safe and well in the name of our Lord.

Flora turned her face into my palm and kissed it, then moved my hand to rest where it had been on top of the curve of my abdomen. I opened my left hand and offered her the stone, adding my own hasty benediction, my brain scrambling for the words.

“May Christ Our Lord be your solid rock and cornerstone… May He cradle you in the palm of His hand and shelter you under His feathers… from this day on and forever more.”

The sweet child accepted my token and then crossed herself before stepping back to her brother’s side. I blinked rapidly in a vain attempt to keep my tears at bay as my mind scrambled to remember what the hell I was doing before I had descended into complete sentimentality.

Bandage him, you bloody sot, I chastised myself and reached for the roll of cloth.

My fingers set about their business, pure reputation having made them deft and capable of doing the work without a connected or coherent mental direction. My tongue was thick in my mouth, my lips suddenly felt clumsy as I tried to spit out the basic care instructions that he would need.

“Keep it dry,” I muttered, adding, “and change the bandage daily.”

Michael’s head bobbed enthusiastically, “Aye, Màthair. I will.”

The bandage now fastened off and talisman administered, the children simply stood and beamed at me, waiting for dismissal or further instruction.

“Right then,” I swallowed hard. “Off you go.”

With a parting wave, they flounced off and disappeared into the village’s market.

God go with you, dear ones.

…  
Another week later.

The chill from the cave’s damp, stone floor was beginning to seep through the sheepskin beneath me. I shifted, pulling my woolen blanket up and over my shoulders, but it didn’t help… the cold and dark disquiet of the night still found me. My eyelids and every muscle in my body burned with fatigue, yet my mind refused to stop churning. It’s machinations kept me forever suspended in wakeful agony.

“Canna sleep?”

A short puff of air left my nose in frustration as I tried to ease the ache in my hip and lower back, as well as in response to Murtagh’s observation.

“Of course not,” I muttered in answer.

How could I sleep when I knew we’d been unsuccessful?

When we’d paraded through every village, hamlet, and croft and had no more information on Jamie’s whereabouts than when we’d left Lallybroch over three weeks ago?

I felt Murtagh’s gaze upon me and looked across the fire to find him studying me intently.

“What is it?” I raised a brow in slight annoyance

He’d grown more accustomed to my condition as both our journey and I progressed, but he was still more than a bit tongue tied about the whole matter. I didn’t know if it was due to the century and culture in which he lived, or if it was simply from lack of exposure, having never had a wife of his own. Either way, the fact that he had questions was evident and I often had to drag them out of him.

“Are the bairns troublin’ ye?” His brows furrowed in concern as he added, “Wi’ their movin’?”

I shook my head, “I think they’re asleep.”

This surprised the Scot and he absently stroked his chin in thought, a motion that amused me as I realized my hand closely echoed his, although it was hidden from his sight beneath my blanket.

“They don’t always sleep when I do,” I explained, even while wishing they did, “but they do sleep.”

“When they wake…” he searched for the right words, “a bit like ye’ve swallowed fish, aye?”

“More like a small hippo,” I grumbled, wistfully remembering the days when the movements within me could have been something akin to the brush of a fish’s tail, instead of the hooves on fire they resembled of late.

“A wha’?”

“It’s a… it looks something like a pig,” I started, my gaze lifting to the dark, stone ceiling above me as I tried to conjure up the image of the beast. One had nearly capsized our boat when I was in Cairo with Uncle Lamb and — though I’d only been eleven or twelve at the time — it was certainly an experience that stuck with me.

I heard his astonished murmured acknowledgement as he shifted his mental image from something the size of a loaf of bread to a decent sized farm animal and grinned to myself as I added, “Except it’s bigger than a horse.”

His guttural reaction was incoherent to my Sassenach ears, but the shock, disbelief, and then reverent awe was crystal clear. Murtagh didn’t quite know how to change the subject and we both let a heavy silence fall.

It was now well into December, making me officially in my sixth month of pregnancy. The babies were growing rapidly and so, in turn, was I. It felt as though they were already running out of room… though I knew we still had a long three months to go.

The blessing of living on the road was that I hadn’t seen my reflection since we’d left Lallybroch. I firmly held onto that mental image of my figure, not wanting to think of what I looked like now, nor how big I’d be come the month of March. The fit of my skirts was evidence enough of how I was changing on an almost daily basis and I half wondered if the age old tradition of confinement was so that heavily expectant mothers could get away with wearing nothing but their shift all day… but come to that, I wasn’t sure if even my shift would fit for much longer.

“Ye’ll return to Lallybroch in the morn,” my companion’s command interrupted my wandering thoughts.

I stiffened, my head snapping to the side to search for him in the dark.

“No,” I responded simply.

I hadn’t the energy or the words to plead my case just now, but giving up on my husband was not an option and neither was returning home to Jenny empty handed. I would not go back to Lallybroch without Jamie at my side.

The dim light of the fire threw deep shadows across Murtagh’s face as he insisted again, “Ye’ll go, Claire.”

“I won’t,’ I countered, my temper flaring and swallowing my fatigue as I pushed myself up onto one elbow. “He is my husband.”

He rose one brow as if taunting me, his silent ‘do ye no’ think I ken that’ ringing loud and clear in my ears and I swallowed hard in a desperate attempt to keep my tears at bay.

“You can’t possibly know how it feels!”

Murtagh rose suddenly and strode to the mouth of the cave as he burst, “An’ ye’re the only one to lose someone ye loved, then?!”

The sky was clear and the moon shone bright tonight, silhouetting his hunched shoulders, usually so proud and stalwart. 

“I lost someone too,” he murmured, his voice betraying the deep, churning waters that flowed beneath an always unbroken surface.

“‘Twas at a MacKenzie gathering, many years ago… she was a canty lassie, bonnie as the day is long… but she had another suitor. So, I thought to prove myself to her, to be the kind of man she desired… During the hunt, I alone killed the wounded boar with nothing but my dagger… The MacKenzie was so impressed by the deed, he gave me the tusks… I had them made into bracelets… and gave them to her as a wedding gift.”

The bracelets.

Jenny had given them to me the morning Murtagh and Ian had returned and they’d been in my pocket ever since, a talisman of my own to keep Jamie’s presence with me. I pushed myself the rest of the way up, my hands patting at my skirts to find them.

“It was you,” I whispered as my fingers wrapped around the curved ivory, warm from being against my body.

Murtagh turned and I staggered to my feet, closing the distance between us as I held them out to him. He was at my side long before I made it to where he’d been standing and his hands shook as he took the bracelets, bringing them to his lips as his eyes slid shut. He swayed slightly and it was my turn to place a steadying hand on his arm, .

“Ye think ye’re the only one who loves Jamie?” Murtagh murmured after a moment, the silver light of the moon making his damp cheeks shine bright as he finally looked at me. I found my own pain echoed in his eyes, multiplied tenfold.

“He is a son to me, a nighean.”

I nodded, knowing that I couldn’t possibly form accurate words to convey the acheings of my heart… the overwhelming and soul crushing realization that he did, indeed, know how I felt and he’d been carrying the weight of it around for decades.

My hand gripped his arm and he pulled me to him, supporting me as I cried. His hand lifted to gently cradle the back of my head as I sobbed into his shoulder, my tears flowing free for the first time since we’d left Lallybroch.

The doubt crept in as I let go of my facade, making me ask, “What’s going to happen to me… to us, if he’s… if Jamie is…”

“If the lad is truly gone,” Murtagh choked out, his embrace tightening, “I vow to protect ye and the bairns for the rest of my life… just as I swore to Ellen to protect Jamie.”


End file.
